


That Feeling of Déjà Vu

by catisacat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Lena and Gérard were close friends, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catisacat/pseuds/catisacat
Summary: Talon is tired of a certain Lena "Tracer" Oxton constantly interfering with their work.Luckily, they discover that she was a weakness in the form of a certain sniper of theirs.





	1. And Washed The Spider Out

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I dreamed this story up and was so excited when I woke up to actually write it.
> 
> Hopefully this'll finally kill my stupid shitty writer's block!

Lena “Tracer” Oxton, the thorn in Talon’s side.

The persistent little freedom fighter has had them in her sights for far too long.

Ever since that fateful night. Mondatta’s assassination.

Sometimes they even wondered if it had been worth it. Ever since then Tracer has found and systematically dismantled over a hundred of Talon’s operations. From violent coups, to other assassinations, to things as small as destroying the places they laundered their dirty money.

The higher ups in Talon had watched Widowmaker’s first person footage of their fight time and time again. Studying Tracer’s every movement frame by frame. Looking for a weak spot, a glitch, a stitch in time that could be the undoing of the lithe little warrior.

There was nothing. They couldn’t even exactly pin down how Widowmaker had disabled that “Chronal Accelerator” of hers.

Plus the camera had continued rolling from the shadows after the sniper’s “disappearance.”

She’d stayed and watched Tracer stumble back to her feet, device quickly lighting up again as quickly as its power had been snuffed out before.

It wasn’t until the woman had dropped to her knees again that Widowmaker finally, truly departed. Muttering something quietly in French, too unintelligible for the translators. When questioned, Widow claimed that she didn’t remember what she said.

For the millionth time one of their many agents reviewed the footage again. A younger recruit, brand new to the terrorist organization. They doubted the inexperienced man would find anything of note. A surprise found them as he calmly walked into his new boss’s office and deadpanned the perfect answer.

“Tracer’s weakness is Widowmaker.”

\---

A noise of irritation split the silence in the sniper’s nest as Widowmaker looked down at the damp, dreary roads of London.

“Down came the rain…” she grumbled to herself, reaching out a blue hand that returned absolutely soaked. She stared at it, the moonlight glinting off the moisture betraying how dark it truly was up here. How was she supposed to work in these conditions? All the rooftops were slick and the visibility was null. Dreadful.

She questioned this mission Talon had given her. Not verbally, of course. But mentally. While they had a good hold on controlling her actions nothing could truly stop her from forming her own superficial thoughts and opinions.

Today’s particular thought was that this plan of Talon’s was foolish.

She was following their instructions anyways. She figured this also made her a fool.

Trained eyes neatly scanned the crowd below. Lena Oxton wasn’t a hard target to find. A bright blue glow illuminated her among the crowd, happily munching away at some fries and a greasy piece of battered fish.

“Distasteful,” Widow claimed. Her stomach said otherwise. She wasn’t one for eating on missions and nothing sounded better than sinking her teeth into a fresh, juicy piece of-

She was getting off topic. As she thought before. Easy to find. The trouble would be to lure her out. Talon had instructed her to be as stealthy as possible. They didn’t want a spectacle this time. Ideally, no one but Tracer herself would see the assassin.

She waited, carefully watching the woman walk through the crowd. Quiet jealousy tugging at her aching stomach. It would help, she supposed.

As if on cue Tracer wrapped up the remains of her dinner in the foil, carefully tucking it into a battered, ratty little messenger bag. Widow made a small ‘tch’ of disapproval as she watched the woman wipe her greasy hands on the cargo capris she was wearing.

It didn’t matter though. Tracer was leaving the crowd and heading towards an all but abandoned section of the town.

The perfect moment to strike.

Widowmaker leapt with precision, flinging herself onto a high perch a good distance from her prey but within her eyesight. She stayed like that for just a second, just long enough to make sure she caught Tracer’s fleeting attention span, before heading into an even more abandoned, quiet section of London.

The tiny woman noticed her immediately, digging into her pockets frantically to grab her guns.

Her Chronal Accelerator lit up, projecting her quickly forward to give chase.

A thud in an alleyway. A strangled cry.

Tracer flitted expertly into it, guns at the ready, pointing straight at her target, a quip on her lips died before it could even begin.

Widowmaker laid there, crumpled on the ground like a squashed bat.

Merde. Widow’s mind was a hive of bees, shaken then dumped in a lake. She’d barely even had timed to register when her foot had slid on that sopping wet pipe and sent her tumbling to the ground with a sickening crack.

What a fool. In the deep recesses of her mind Widowmaker supposed that she was maybe too good at her job. She had been supposed to fake a fall, fake an injury, show a false vulnerable side and let Tracer’s natural good nature take care of the rest. Not actually fall, actually hurt herself and truly be at the mercy of the woman pointing two guns at her face.

Her own lay broken on the ground. She stared in dismay at the broken sight glittering in the moonlight. With dread she slowly raised her eyes to look up at the startled face of Lena Oxton.

Panic tried to find a foothold in Widow’s mind to no avail but to her slow-beating heart’s concern she didn’t seem to care.

That foolish boy from Talon’s newest batch was right though.

The guns disappeared back into Tracer’s pockets as quickly as they’d appeared. She was dumbstruck nonetheless, approaching Widowmaker as one would an injured wild animal. A small, careful hand reached out and touched her shoulder.

“Are… are you alright, love?” Tracer asked.

For a second Widow wasn’t entirely sure if the question was poised at herself or if Lena was questioning her own sanity.

Widowmaker answered through, her typical careful and calculated tone shattered as easily as the fragile pieces of her sniper rifle around her, “No.”

Talon’s plan was looking less and less foolish as Tracer knelt down and very, very carefully picked Widowmaker up, bridal style. It was awkward and she could feel the woman struggling to keep the much taller woman off the ground without touching the injured leg.

Part of Lena’s brain was screaming at her to leave the hardened killer or turn her over to the cops. She knew how poorly that could turn out though. A warm picture floated to the surface of her mind too. Old, faded but still burned into her brain.

She knew that somewhere, buried under all this Widowmaker nonsense was Amélie Lacroix.

“Look I’ll just, don’t worry, alright?” Tracer said, trying her best to sound comforting.

Widow couldn’t help but crack a smirk, sassy even in this weakened state, “What? No catchphrase for me?”

Tracer shook with sudden laughter, cut short as she nearly dropped the sniper. She adjusted her grip, feeling much more heartened about the possibility of freeing Amélie from the gilded cage of her own mind.

“Alright then. Cheers, love! The cavalry’s here!”

Maybe Talon’s plan wasn’t so stupid after all. Perhaps the long con was the better way to go with it.

Widowmaker could feel her communication device digging into the side of her head, right under her visor. All it would take was a moment alone to tell Talon of this change of plans. She was sure they’d go along with it. Besides, not only was it more likely to have a success rate than a quick hit but in the meantime she was sure it would keep Tracer from interfering with Talon business.

Trapped in the web of her own thoughts she hadn’t been aware of the smile gracing her face until she realized Tracer was smiling right back.

Widow dropped the grin quickly and looked away with a huff, trying to ignore the giggle that that evoked from the other woman. Whatever. Let her laugh now.

She remained quiet and unresponsive as Tracer kept walking, focusing instead on the aching pain in her leg to try to keep her resolve up. She didn’t even react when Tracer awkwardly fumbled with her house keys after the world’s most uncomfortably silent elevator ride.

It wasn’t until she was carried into Lena’s actual apartment did the absurd intimacy this assassination was going to call for truly hit her.

Widowmaker stole one more glance up at Tracer as she was set on a soft couch.

Still grinning like an idiot of course.

Widow couldn’t wait to wipe that look off her smug face, just like old times.

Tracer couldn’t wait to make her smile again, just like old times.


	2. The Tortoise and the Hare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracer begins to worry about the consequences she will most likely face as she realizes Widowmaker is going to have to stay with her until he leg is healed.
> 
> Plus now bittersweet thoughts of the past begin to get dredged up.

Widowmaker hissed in pain. After depositing her on the couch Tracer had disappeared into a different room, leaving her alone in the warm living room.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off Widow was becoming acutely aware of the fact her leg was hurt worse than she thought. She undid her armored boots to survey the damage but swore when she remembered how impossible it is to roll up the leg of this goddamn skintight suit.

She only got about two rolls before the pain was too great.

Collapsing against the pillow she groaned in irritation. Yellow eyes rolled around in her head as she surveyed the room.

It was nice. Surprisingly clean and well organized. A warm color scheme, yellows and oranges gracing nearly every item in it. It seems Tracer is overtly fond of stuffed animals, an unsurprising revelation. She idly picked up the teddy bear on the couch next to her. The tag read ‘To Lena, Love Hana!!’, surrounded by hearts.

A long lost memory tugged at her brain.

The soft toy bounced safely back onto the pillow as she dropped it as a sudden pang of pain hit her, distracting her from picking at that thought that was trying so hard to resurface.

Punching the couch she swore loudly as Tracer walked back into the room, arms full of medical supplies. Apparently she was just as much of a baby about pain as always. Tracer rushed over, quick to subdue her before she could hurt herself more “Don’t move around like that! You’ll make it worse.”

Widow just glared up at her. Lena couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d seen Amélie hurt. Before the kidnapping, of course. Her old apartment had looked so much like this one, the poofy couch was near identical. It had just been a splinter but Amélie had made such a fuss while Gérard and Lena had taken turns trying to dig it out.

“Alright, let’s take a look-see…” she mumbled as she ignored that cold look, distracted by her own thoughts of the past, “Angela taught me to set broken bones and, well, it’s not like I can take you to a hospital or anything. You being a wanted terrorist and all.”

As Tracer carefully tried to pull up the jumpsuit leg it was obvious it couldn’t budge without possibly making it worse.

“I already tried that,” Widow stated matter-of-factly, “My suit is made more for durability, not flexibility. Although I make due with the latter.”

“Well, love, hate to break it to you but it’s gotta come off one way or another. You… you don’t have any other clothes, do ya?”

“No.”

Widow’d never considered the sheer absurdity of Talon’s lack of street clothes for their operatives until this very moment. Once again the word “fools” drifted to the forefront of her mind.

Tracer sighed, “Okay, so, gotta come off. I’ll… I’ll see what might fit you.”

She disappeared again. Widow could hear her rummaging around like a small animal making a den. In the other room, Tracer has having doubts that any of her clothes would fit her. She is so tiny and Widow’s so tall.

Eventually she chose an old shirt from her favorite local pub and some pajama pants that were several sizes too large for herself. Perfect.

She practically skipped back out and handed them to the assassin with a chirp, “Here you go!”

For a moment Tracer turned around and covered her eyes, ready to politely wait for Widow to change.

After a few seconds and the clattering of metal and stiff plastic being set on her orange glass coffee table she could hear the other woman become frustrated.

“Cherie? A little help?” she heard behind her, sounding completely uncertain.

Tracer carefully turned around, peeking from behind her hands like a small child. Widowmaker had managed to get off the top half of her suit no problem, already wearing the slightly too-tight bar top, but the pants had been another issue.

The injured leg obviously was complicating matters. Despite her claims to have no feelings Widow was obviously embarrassed by this, staring at a wall, “Well? Are you going to help?”

“Uhm, of course, I just…” Tracer shook her head, trying to toss out the thought that she’d never even seen Amélie like that, “Uhm, just tell me if I hit the injured spot.”

“Oh, I will,” Widow quipped, enjoying gaining back a bit of power through Tracer’s flustered state, “Be gentle with me though, non?”

Oh gosh, Amélie wasn’t going to make this easy for Lena, was she?

Regardless, Tracer carefully grabbed the top bunched around Widow’s wasp waist and helped shimmy down the pant legs whilst doing her best impression of a traumatized rabbit and staring at a wall. Aside from a slight hiss as the uncomfortably tacky fabric slid over the injury it went over well.

Putting the sweatpants on was much easier. Tracer breathed a sigh of relief as she could finally push up the baggy pant leg and examine the injured area.

There was already a dark bruise spreading around the area but nothing was sticking out at a weird angle. It didn’t look bad. She just carefully took care of it like Angela had shown her all those years before.

Come to think of it. Angela had had her test it out on Gérard. How could she have forgotten? He was fine, of course, but had been more than willing to be a test subject. She could remember him smiling mischievously down at her, ‘Come on, Lena, let’s have some fun.’

She’d helped the huge man hobble his way home on his falsely bandaged leg, feeling quite a bit like a walking stick as he supported himself on her shoulder.

The look on Amélie’s face had been priceless.

And absolutely worth the beating she gave the both of them with that decorative throw pillow of hers.

Widow carefully surveyed Tracer’s work, gently prodding at it until she felt satisfied. Solid work. She trailed her eyes back up to the other woman’s, never one to be ungrateful, “Merci.”

“Cheers, love, don’t worry about it!” Tracer chirped as she carefully situated herself on the left side of the couch

An almost comfortable silence filled the room as Widow leaned back into the pillows on the right to better rest her leg. Her long legs still found themselves slightly curled to accommodate the other woman. She said nothing though.

No one did, in fact. It was dawning simultaneously on the two that this was what it was going to be like. Widowmaker couldn’t leave. Tracer didn’t have another home.

Tracer had never felt this uncomfortable in her own house. When she’d carried the sniper in here she really hadn’t considered the long term consequences. She never did. Why should she when she can rewind time?

She started to pale as she realized the danger she’d brought into a once secret and safe home. Talon could barge in, wanting their broken toy back. Reaper could be sent to take her out (and not for a nice dinner-and-a-movie night). Hell, Widowmaker herself could up and decide to end her. She’d probably wait until she could walk again. But it could happen. Easily.

Gérard. His once lively and bright face flooded into Lena’s mind. While he hadn’t been her absolutely best friend ever- a special title (and accompanying handmade necklace) she’d only ever granted to Winston- but they’d been close friends nonetheless. She’d hung out with him a lot and, therefore by extent, Amélie.

It hadn’t been long before she’d grown much closer to his wife than him though. They’d spent all their time together when they could. It was so nice for Tracer to have a normal friend to hang around. She was so used to chasing after the grouchy old men and far too busy women of Overwatch. It was just… nice. Nice to have a normal movie night, a nip of coffee for lunch, a walk in the golden light of an autumn park.

Reality started flooding in on her. Tainting the beautiful memories of the past as she stared at Widowmaker. Thinking about what she’d done. What she’ll probably do again.

Who Amélie, her once dear friend, had become.

Widow opened her mouth to ask if Tracer was alright, slightly concerned about the fact her only caretaker had gone ghost white for seemingly no reason. However, she was cut off by the thundering rumble of her stomach. Merde.

Tracer jerked to attention, glad to take her thoughts away from her racing, panicked thoughts. She had to do it. Take a chance. Maybe she could dig past Widowmaker, dig deep down until she could see Amélie again. She hopped a little, digging into the discarded messenger bag resting on the coffee table. Widow pushed herself up perilously, not even caring how close her injured leg came to smacking against the coffee table.

Widowmaker could have kissed Tracer on the mouth as she unwrapped the half-eaten fish and chips that she’d been coveting earlier. God, she didn’t even care that it had come from some sketchy little hole in the wall. Right now it might as well have came from a four star gourmet restaurant.

A delighted giggled escaped Tracer as Widow eagerly took the gift from her and started scarfing it down like a starving animal.

“Good, innit?” she said, glad to see the cold woman enjoying herself so much. Especially from such a simple thing like some fish and chips. Maybe she could take Widow- no, Amélie- there for some fresh food sometime.

“C’est un délice,” Widow managed to mutter between almost panicked bites.

Jeez, she was really going at that. Lena found her own stomach awakening again. I just fed you! Lay down!

Widow on the other hand paid no attention to the other woman. God, how long has it been since she last ate? An unintended side effect of the Talon training. Something they were working on fixing. Or had been.

As she polished off the last of the greasy treat the other side effect abruptly reared its head.

She hadn’t slept in nearly a week.

The food hit her stomach like a rock, immediately dropping her into the sleepiest state she’d ever been in. She felt herself drift over a bit, swooning like an offended lady of the high court. Tracer was brought out of her own thoughts as Widow started gently wafting onto her shoulder.

“Oh! Oh my, you tired, love? Plumb tuckered out?” she awkwardly flitted, immediately remembering her lack of a guest room.

“Oui.”

“Okay, uhm…”

“Carry me.”

Tracer flushed red in a heartbeat, “I, well, I only have the one bed.”

“Don’t make this weirder than it needs to be, mon lapin.”

Lena waffled a bit, absentmindedly picking up a napkin to wipe at Amélie’s hands and mouth to the assassin’s surprise.

Okay, Oxton, you can do this! It’s not weird! Only in your head!

She carefully slid her hands under Widowmaker to pick her up again. Mercifully it was a much shorter walk to her bedroom than the previous walk from the tangled side streets of King’s Row.

Carrying her wasn’t the problem though. ‘Across the threshold’ sashayed through her mind as she stepped through the doorway into the bedroom. Widow has acutely aware of the red absolutely burning its way across the tiny girl’s face like a wildfire but was honestly too tired to sass her about it.

She didn’t resist as she was gently placed on the bed.

“I, uhm, have to get changed now! I’ll be back in a blink.”

For a second Widow was surprised she didn’t mean that literally.

She watched Tracer dig through a drawer, pulling out a battered t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, before disappearing into what Widow could only assume was the master bathroom.

Ignoring the rustling coming from that room she looked around the bedroom sleepily but warily. Very similarly decorated to the living room but remarkably more messy. Still cleaner than she would have expected from someone as scatterbrained as Tracer though.

The army of stuffed animals expanded vastly in this room, filling every nook and cranny they could sit on. Spilling out of everywhere. The bed itself was nearly impossible to sleep on due to the sheer number of stuffed cats and dogs and other little furry creatures. Widowmaker pulled a unicorn out of her ass. Mon dieu, this was too much.

An oddly familiar pair of little stuffed critters caught her eye. Separated from the others, they sat on Tracer’s bedside table. The rabbit was fairly unremarkable aside from the little bomber jacket it wore. The other was quite unusual. A turtle wearing a tutu.

On the top of the list of creatures not suited for ballet, turtles are really up there.

Widowmaker carefully picked it up, examining it further. On closer inspection it was quite beat up looking and there were small blood splatters on it. How grim. She wondered how it got like that.

A cold breeze was rushing through her mind, like an open door in the dead of winter, begging for her attention.

Tracer walked out to see Widowmaker staring at that ballerina turtle with all her might.

Her heart caught in her throat as she watched her old friend struggle to remember the turtle. She was afraid to make a noise. To move. To breathe. Anything that might disturb the assassin from her mind’s desperate churning.

Unlike Amélie, Lena acutely remembered the night they bought those toys.

Gérard had absolutely bent over backwards to get those very exclusive tickets for Amélie. While ballet was her passion she never really got a stage of her own so whenever a talented troupe came to town he was always sure to make sure his wife could see them.

When he’d come down with a nasty case of food poisoning it had devastated him. He called Lena between bouts of unspeakable vomiting to beg her to take Amélie to see the dancers.

She accepted without hesitation of course.

Lena had always admired Gérard for his trust in her.

He wasn’t a stupid man albeit a bit naive. His sharp eyes caught how Lena looked at his wife. But she wasn’t the sort to be a homewrecker and he knew it.

God did Lena admire that Gérard trusted her to not be untoward with his wife. Never took advantage of it. Even as he gave them the perfect date while he puked his guts out in a bucket at home while Angela floated around and berated him for eating at that seedy little bar with the rest of the guys.

Well, Lena figured that was a measure of trust on Amélie’s end too. Leaving her husband alone at home with the beautiful angel. Everyone and their mother had a crush on the good doctor. Literally. Fareeha had absolutely squawked at Ana when she caught her mother staring a bit too wistfully at Angela after a routine checkup.

Although she supposed the sheer amount of vomit would put damn near any romantic interest right in the toilet with it.

That night had been wonderful though. Amélie’s eyes had positively sparkled as she watched the ballerinas float across the stage. Twisting, turning, jumping. Each move so delicate and fleeting.

Lena had only been looking at her though. She missed more of the show than she cared to admit.

Afterwards they’d wandered downtown, still dressed to the nines. The deep purple dress glimmered enticingly as it traced every angular curve of Amélie’s body right alongside Lena’s eyes. She either didn’t notice the looks or didn’t care.

Either way the little monkey suit Lena had wrangled herself into felt entirely too hot.

They’d just spent the rest of the night popping into little boutiques and examining the wares.

It was a lovely time, topped off as Lena excitedly dragged the much more mature woman into a shop full of custom stuffed animals. The second she laid eyes on the little “Tortoise and the Hare” mix-and-match sets she fell in love.

She still could acutely remember the soft smile curling up the red lips of Amélie as she bought it for them. Taking the ballerina turtle for herself and letting Lena have the pilot hare.

The two stuffed animals reunited years later. Carefully fished from the bloody crime scene of Gérard’s deathbed by Tracer. Winston had begun to chastise her for tampering with the evidence until he saw large, wet tears chasing each other down her cheeks. The gorilla distracted the others while she escaped with the stuffed creature.

And now Widowmaker was staring at it, trying so hard to remember that night.

Lena looked down at the tacky tuxedo t-shirt she’d put on. A poor mockery of what she’d worn that night.

Nothing clicked for Widow though, who only noticed Tracer as she was carefully setting the turtle back on the bedside table. She only looked away and rolled over, back facing Lena as she slid into bed next to her.

There was a silent moment before Tracer peeked over her shoulder at Widowmaker, “Can I… can I have my unicorn, please?”

A second later the rainbow creature fell in front of her with a soft squeak.

She quickly wrapped her arms around around it, giving it a tight squeeze, “Thanks, love.”

“Pas de probléme.”

Lena’s mind returned to the worrying concept of getting killed in her sleep. Be it by Talon, Reaper or Widowmaker herself. She hugged her unicorn tighter.

Amélie could stop caring about her but at least Lady Cloudchaser the Third would always love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm just full-on, hardcore guessing what Gérard was like. Eventually canon will probably reveal his personality and he'll be nothing like what I picked here. Such is the life.


	3. Did It Hurt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena begins to have some concerns about her amateur first aid and calls for some professional help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! My laptop's keyboard was busted and I hate writing on the desktop. Turns out I just had to pull up some keys and get the dog hair out.

The next day Tracer was a fidgety mess.

Widowmaker remained sleeping, out (literally) cold as Lena fretted in the living room at nearly five in the morning.

The logistics of this was an absolute nightmare. Not only was Amélie going to be staying here for a while but Lena was starting to question the way she’d set the bone.

She’d focused on it all night. Eyes had sprung wide open as she started to question the steps she’d taken, the way she’d moved it, the wrapping method. God what if she’d fucked up and hobbled Amélie for life?

Thin fingers tapped nervously on the blank cell phone screen before she caved and turned it on, flicking nervously through the address book.

Oh no, she wasn’t going to like this.

\---

Widowmaker’s eyes slowly opened as the sunlight hit them but the panic of Tracer leaning over and staring at her was what really brought her back to the waking world.

“Merde! Lena! Don’t do that!” she said, jerking up and nearly headbutting the tiny woman, “My slow heart can’t take such shock so early in the morning.”

Tracer skittered like a baby deer, “I just, well, have some news?”

“Good news, I hope?”

The sheepish grin and wringing hands told her no. At least by her standards.

“I just… was a bit worried about how I set your leg-”

“Mon dieu, have you crippled me?”

“No, I just… called for a, uh, second opinion?”

Before Widowmaker could question Tracer further there was a knock at the door. Lena took that opportunity to bolt out. She would have rathered to explain first but at least this way she’d have reliable back up.

Widow just sat there in mute horror as Tracer walked in with two uncomfortably familiar figures.

She made vague noises of French distress while Angela Zeigler awkwardly sized her up, almost dragging a stylish antique doctor’s bag. Fareeha Amari was lurking behind her like an angry, overprotective bird of prey. Even out of her armor and walking around in regular prosthetics she was slightly terrifying.

“Mein gott, I thought Lena was kidding…” Mercy muttered.

“I didn’t,” Fareeha glared, crossing her arms, “To say this is a bad idea would be an understatement. I want to call Ja-”

Angela smacked her girlfriend on the arm, letting the metallic sound reverberate in the awkward silence, “Fareeha! You know my code of ethics doesn’t allow me to not help when I can.”

“I thought it was just innocents…” she hissed, shooting Widowmaker a dark look.

Lena popped up between the bickering girlfriends, grabbing at Fareeha’s hands, “Alright, love, you and me are going to go and make some brekkie for everyone. I know you’re not a great cook but you can make eggs right? Whatever, we’ll find out.”

Dear god, Lena is surprisingly strong. Fareeha stumbled after her as she was dragged towards the well supplied kitchen.

Tracer tried not to think about the last time “Pharah” and “Mercy” would have seen Amélie because she knew all too well. Another coldly familiar sight. A home call for Gérard after he’d gotten caught out in the rain. He’d been sniveling like a baby. Hopefully ironing up some waffles would distract her ferret mind.

Even after they left a stunned silence still held Widowmaker captive as Angela carefully approached her. Her blue eyes were wide with fear as she opened her bag and pulled out a nicer splint before speaking, “Uhm… hello... Widowmaker… may I?”

She was cautiously tugging at the blanket still wrapped snugly around the sniper. Widowmaker nodded, “Knock yourself out.”

“I’d say the same but it sounds like you already did that last night,” Angela quipped, entirely incapable of helping herself, as she started carefully unwrapping the bandages from around Widow’s leg to examine the damage.

Both cringed at the dark bruise still spreading on the marred blue skin.

“This will hurt a little. You should hold maybe hold the pillow over your mouth.”

\---

Fareeha jumped as a woman’s muffled scream came from the other room. Nearly smacked Lena in the face with a scalding hot pan as she clattered back to the bedroom. She was relieved as her girlfriend’s perfect ponytail bounced harmlessly as she whipped her head around, holding Widow’s injured leg.

Angela couldn’t help but smile at her girlfriend brandishing the pan full of eggs, clearly ready to beat sniper ass, “Go back and help Lena, mein Vogel. Don’t mind the screams.”

Never a comforting thing to hear but Fareeha listened.

Sulking back to the kitchen Lena approached her, “Uhm, everything okay?”

Another muffled scream punctured the silence.

“Just standard medical procedure.”

Lena wasn’t comforted by that but as Fareeha put the pan back on the stove and resumed cooking she spoke, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Lena.”

“‘Course you don’t! Gotta keep a little mystery in the romance, right?” Lena said, nuzzling up to the soldier’s side, “What else would keep the fires of this illicit affair going?”

A metal hand raked through her tousled brown hair, “Of course, my adorable mistress, although don’t fan the flames too much. Angela can never find out about our love.”

Both cracked into laughter, Lena slapping Fareeha on the back, “We don’t hang out enough.”

She nodded, braids swinging softly, “But then she’ll figure it out for sure.”

“I’m serious, Fareeha, let’s get together more. You can bring Angela.”

They were silent for a second.

Fareeha laughed, “Okay this time I can read you like a bo-”

“I’m always down for a threesome! Only partially joking!”

Giggles slowly dissipated into a solemn frown as Fareeha returned to tending to the eggs, “I’m worried, Lena. Why? Why did you bring her here? It’s not safe.”

“She was hurt.”

“If you think Amélie’s still in there, you’re digging for fool’s gold.”

Lena looked away, pretending to be deeply invested in the waffle iron. She felt a robotic hand grab her shoulder, pulling her into a tight one-armed hug, “I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying that so hopefully you won’t get hurt worse. Probably physically, most definitely emotionally.”

“I’m an adult, I can handle this.”

Fareeha sighed as Lena carefully piled the waffles onto a bunch of plates, “Just… you know you can call me or Angela anytime… you were lucky we were in Switzerland and not Egypt.”

“I know… I will…”

\---

As those two chatted Mercy had been hard at work fixing up Widowmaker’s leg. The deathly silence between the two was putting the good doctor right on edge. She was used to casual banter with her patients but right now she was just being glared at while she tenderly adjusted the bandages.

Mercy broke the silence, always a bit holier than thou even in the worst circumstances, “Lena is really going out on a limb for you, you know. No pun intended.”

She gestured to the battered leg. Widowmaker’s nose crinkled as she sneered back, “Oh so you’re here to lecture me like a misbehaving child are you? I could kill you in million ways with only my bare hands. Your little pet bird wouldn’t even have time to react.”

“Big talk coming from someone who fell off a roof,” Mercy calmly replied.

Widowmaker just scoffed at that, “Do not think you’re so perfect, mon cheri.”

“I’m not. Nor you. Nor Lena. Not even my Fareeha. But you can try to be.”

“Hmm?”

“This is your chance. Lena would do anything to help you, not only for herself but for the memory of Gérard. You can turn it around, Amélie.”

Yellow eyes narrowed, “Do not call me that.”

“Alright. Widowmaker. But I hope I may call you by your real name again someday, though.”

“Keep your head in the clouds, gâteau de Savoie.”

Mercy sighed, “I’m just saying, Lena wants to help you. I know you don’t value my opinion but I hope you’ll listen nonetheless.”

“Hmm, did it hurt?” Widow teased, wanting an easy out.

“Hn?”

“When you clawed your way up from hell.”

Mercy sighed but was starting to feel infinitely more brave as she spoke to this declawed house cat of a woman, “You know, Fareeha used the original line for that on me once. Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven? Well, just remember. It does hurt to fall.”

Widowmaker shrieked again as Mercy latched onto her injured leg, applying just enough force for it to be agonizing without causing further damage. If she wasn’t in such a panic Widow would have questioned how expertly said force was applied.

She forced her face back into a state of false apathy as Mercy started leaning over her, “You should be grateful, ‘mon cheri’. Lena’s giving you a chance and I hope you don’t squander it. Be grateful.”

The grip on the wound tightened a little more, causing Widow to yelp quietly as Mercy’s perfect nails dug into the neatly wrapped bandages. The doctor didn’t drop that perfectly professional smile though.

“You should probably be a little grateful to be too. Lena was right to worry. She didn’t set it right. Think of me when you’re able to walk again.”

Widow was breathing heavily by the time Mercy let go and started walking out, “What happened to ‘do no harm’?”

“Sometimes you have to bend that rule a little to keep others from falling into harm’s way.”

“Not such an angel then, are you?”

“I like to think I’m like the old biblical ones. A thousand eyes, a hundred wings, on fire and a horror to see. But always here to help.”

Already forgetting the pain her leg Widowmaker smiled, “I gravely misjudged you then.”

“Thank you,” Mercy said, returning a polite nod as she shoved things back into her bag, “But still remember; I’m a doctor. I’m good at making things look like an accident.”

Widowmaker watched the woman disappear out of the bedroom with a newfound respect.

\---

Breakfast was tense to say the least. Even though Lena, resident waffle professional, and her perfectly concocted blueberry waffles weren’t enough to save them from the awkward horrors of small talk.

Only a couple hours later they were bidding the two women adieu. Angela promising Lena they were going to be in England for a little while, saying it will be a nice little holiday for them. Lena knew better though. She was being babysat.

It didn’t stop her from hugging both of them goodbye though.

As the door closed behind them Lena turned to Amélie with a smile, “Sorry, did it hurt?”

Remember the sharp pains of the doctor’s grasp Amélie carefully replied, “Non, she just did what she had to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I stumbled out of this chapter shipping Pharah and Tracer a little too much. Unexpected. The Widowmercy stuff? Fairly expected. I just can't write two non-related woman interacting without it getting a lil bit gay.
> 
> As with all my fics, I am unable to resist adding in the main couple's friends. God I love friendship.


	4. Claws Sunk In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracer starts trying to bring Amélie out of Widowmaker more by taking her to a nice French cafe.

A few tense days had passed. Tracer tiptoed around Widowmaker like a new mother trying not to disturb her baby. Just as vigilant in keeping an eye on her too.

It was like watching the behaviors of a caged animal. Widowmaker always seemed ready to strike, even as she drifted off to sleep. Well, maybe that one was a bit understandable as Tracer tended to cuddle in her sleep. She was always shoved off in a beat of Widow’s slow heart though.

Tracer was glad she had nothing resembling a job. Meant she could keep an eye on Widowmaker, not give her any chances to do… stuff. Bad stuff. Potentially killing Tracer stuff. Either way she’d made more than enough in her time at Overwatch to live comfortably off it forever. Especially with the compensation pay they’d given her for her temporal accident.

Well, maybe not forever. She had no idea if she was even capable of dying anymore. Supposed she could become a sideshow oddity if the need ever arose.

Widowmaker on the other hand was considered on the clock. She hadn’t been given many chances to report back to Talon but when she had she had taken them. They were aware her condition wasn’t fake as planned and knew this operation was going to take longer than they thought. They weren’t happy about it but it was keeping Tracer out of their affairs and hopefully would end with that being permanent so they tolerated it.

The past three days had been a weird glimpse into Tracer’s life for the assassin. It was almost like a child had been given free reign. Widowmaker had been subjected to almost non-stop cartoons and junk food, surprised by the oddly deep conversations Tracer was trying to bring up about the shows. Who thinks this hard about children’s fiction?

And the video games. Mon dieu, if Tracer thought too hard about cartoons then she had a PhD in the damned games.

She’d put a controller into Widow’s hands and spent the entire match of the fighting game explaining why she thought the two characters they were playing would be good together. Romantically. She was practically telling Widowmaker a whole story. She didn’t get it. They were fighting. Why would they be romantically involved? What kind of person spends this much time thinking about how characters who are bitter rivals could fall in love, let alone making up an entire story about it?

Widowmaker tried not to think about it as she carefully paged through the book Tracer had brought her. Bookmarking it carefully as she heard her name called from the other room.

She winced as she carefully hobbled to the dinner table, embarassed to be summoned by the enemy in such a casual manner. It didn’t help that Tracer stood there, proudly wearing a tacky ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron as she held up the dish full of roasted potatoes, “You hungry?”

“Oui,” Widowmaker muttered as she slid onto her seat. Tracer’s bomber jacket hung off the back of it, feeling warm against the cool polished wood and her own icy skin.

Tracer bounced in and out of the kitchen for a minute, bringing out a pot roast and some vegetables. For all the junk food they ate throughout the week Tracer was religious about making a nice dinner Sunday nights. She’d told the sniper that proudly the day before as she excitedly started writing her grocery list.

Of course there were ulterior motives with this. While Tracer hadn’t lied about Sunday nights being fancy dinner time that usually meant ‘maybe I didn’t make this in the microwave’ not ‘I am cooking everything from scratch.’ But she wanted to butter Widowmaker up, not unlike the flakey croissants she was placing on the table.

Why, you ask? She wanted to breach that cold, untouched subject they’d danced around.

“So… Amélie…”

“Do not call me that.”

She groaned as she leaned forward on the table, grabbing the spoon for the peas and carrots, “Alright, sorry, Widowmaker. That’s fine. It’s all good. I just, uhm, was wondering about… things.”

Blank staring.

Tracer continued, “How… how do you feel about working for Talon?”

“I don’t.”

Oh boy this wasn’t going to be fun, “Well, I mean, you seem happy enough here. Are you… happy there?”

“I’m not, here or there does not matter to me.”

Tracer forcibly kept herself from rolling her eyes, “But I mean, right now if you were suddenly given the choice by… I don’t know, a magic fairy! And you could be anywhere you wanted to be what would you say.”

She said nothing, only giving Tracer a vacant stare. Whether that was meant to be her answer or not was uncertain. Amélie has always been like this, being Widowmaker has only increased her stubbornness tenfold. Lena acutely remembered Gérard, smashed face-down onto the Overwatch cafeteria table. Amélie had an issue with something, probably something small, and had refused to tell him what it was.

Tracer dropped her head down as she similarly dropped the subject, preoccupying herself with her food. This was going to be a long recovery period.

Surprisingly, Widowmaker reacted when she brought up the events from one of her shows. Small talk about a trashy medical drama wasn’t what she wanted but it was better than being completely iced out. 

\---

Widowmaker did get a bit more moody and reclusive for the next few days though, leaving Tracer to curse her lack of tact.

She was never a woman daunted though. It was an opportunity to learn- to grow!

In her head she drew up a new plan of attack. It wasn’t enough to try and talk her out of it, she had to show Widow what freedom was like and let her know she can have it all without using her words. Tough considering, once again, she’s not a woman of subtlety but hopefully her determination will be enough.

There were a few soft thuds as Tracer bounced into the room on a pair of crutches, “Ta-da!”

Widowmaker shot her an ice cold glare as she hopped off them and handed the offending devices over. A bright smile met her and she sighed, “Why?”

“I was thinking we could go to that nice, fancy French cafe down the street. Heard the owner’s actually from over there too. Maybe it’ll be a taste of home.”

A sigh. Skeptical, of course, but somewhat curious Widowmaker nodded. While Tracer wasn’t the worst cook she also wasn’t the best. Not to mention her attempts at French cuisine had been absolutely pathetic.

Tracer was elated, excitedly helping her to her feet and getting the crutches under her, “You’ll love it, I promise!”

Something in Widow’s mind clicked around a little as she automatically replied, “You are too quick with your promises. Always have been.”

Tracer was dumbstruck by that, not speaking a single word as they stepped out onto the rainy streets of King’s Row. She hadn’t directly acknowledged it but Amélie had implied it. That she'd known Tracer before, that she knew Lena. The way her golden eyes looked around with slow, calm curiosity Tracer doubted she cared or even noticed her faux pas.

Can’t focus on that though, can’t make it known. If she brings it up Amélie will just skitter away and set the whole thing back to the start.

With a click Tracer opened a colorful rainbow umbrella and held it up for Widowmaker. A curt but polite nod was her thanks.

Looking the sniper up and down she couldn’t help but feel a small measure of pride at seeing such a beautiful woman wearing her clothes. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a button-up shirt and some shorts but on Widowmaker it looked striking.

A glance down at her own graphic tee and cargo shorts she immediately knew she was underdressed. But is there really a way to dress up a chronal accelerator? Even her non-combat one was a clunky distraction in the middle of her chest. She decided to distract herself.

“Beautiful here, innit?” Tracer asked, slowing her gait to let Widowmaker keep up.

Something in her chest fluttered as those golden eyes stopped wandering and looked at her, “I suppose. It is… quaint in its design.”

“Real old architecture, yeah? Remember you used to-” oh fuck goddamn it Lena don’t screw it up already, “I mean… remember how I did a report on it as a child! Yeah got a… got a B+. Solid grade. Mum was proud.”

Even backlit by a street lamp, the confusion on Widowmaker’s face was stark. Thinking about it, she always seemed a little confused whenever tried to engage her on a personal level.

They walked in silence as Lena reminisced to herself. While Amélie had never made it as a ballerina she’d fallen back on another interest. Architecture. She’d been pretty good at it. At one point she’d even designed a house for herself and Gérard but it never came to fruition. Lena’s heart hurt as she remembered the night Gérard had shown her the plans. It was a small, homey little cottage. He’d told her excitedly that Amélie had designed it so they could have a perfect place to retire. It was way in the future but she’d always been someone who plans ahead.

Now she put all those planning skills into killing people. That thought brought Tracer back to the cold and rainy present. A light glow illuminated the sidewalk as Widow entered. Collapsing the umbrella Tracer chased after her.

There were a few odd looks as people scrutinized the blue skinned woman. She didn’t seem to mind though as she quickly chose her seat, near the window.

Even though she looked away, out towards the street, she gestured for Tracer to join her.

Of course she obliged, sliding onto the tall stool across from Widow. Looking up at the sky she chirped, “Wow! Lots of stars out tonight, huh? We should go stargazing after this. I know a nice place, shouldn’t be too hard to get up there.”

“Perhaps,” Widow replied, “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

A perfectly manicured nail tapped on the menu in front of the over excited woman. Nodding brightly Tracer picked it up and immediately realized the entire thing was in French. Oh my god no.

The waitress was on top of it and oh no she’s cute too. Tracer panicked as Widowmaker quickly gave her order, already knowing exactly what she wanted.

Dumbstruck Tracer looked from her friend to the waitress and back again.

A sigh, Widow answered for her in French. As the waitress left she calmly answered the unspoken question, “I ordered you a crepe. The most sugary and disgustingly sweet one they had available.”

Giggling Tracer replied, “Well, well, well, doesn’t someone know me like the back of her hand?”

Her heart fluttered as an honest-to-god smile graced Widowmaker’s face, “You are too easy to read, mon cher. Like a children’s book.”

“Guess you’re from the adult section then?” she started before her face went bright red, “Just… just the ones for adults not the naughty kind.”

Reveling in watching Tracer squirm she winked in reply, “Who says I cannot be both?”

Schink. Right to the heart. In a heartbeat Tracer found herself at a lack of words. Understandable ones at least. Gosh, she’d never been good with pretty women.

“Well… I’d… like to check you out then!” she squeaked out, already regretting her boldness.

Widowmaker didn’t care though, laughing it off coldly, “I already have caught you doing that hundreds of times.”

“S-sorry! I don’t mean to star-”

“It is alright.”

Mercifully this awkward conversation was cut short as the waitress returned. In front of Tracer she placed the most diabetes inducing crepe possible and for Widowmaker she had foie gras. The former cringed a little as she knew how said dish was made but she wasn’t about to question the assassin.

It was probably the right choice as Widowmaker started enthusiastically cutting it. She hadn’t been able to obtain real French food in ages. Hell, Gérard might have been alive and well the last time she tasted real, authentic food from her homeland.

She lost herself in it the second she took a bite. To the outsiders surrounding them she looked like a loon but Tracer was shocked by how much just a single bite had softened Widowmaker’s cold face.

Her racing mind was elsewhere. Somewhere long ago. The last time she’d eaten foie gras. Some part of her mind recognized it as her favorite dish while blurry pictures tried to flash into focus. A man’s voice. Fire, but not bad fire. Small. Comforting. The word birthday rose to the surface before crashing back down into the depths.

A single teardrop raced down her face like a melting ice sculpture. When it dropped onto her hand it brought her back into her own head.

As Widow jerked to attention she savagely wiped away her tears, looking at Tracer with a look that half begged and half demanded her not to tell anyone.

She caught on quickly for once, quickly shoving a bite of her crepe into her mouth and tried to diffuse the situation, “Mmm-mmm-mmm! Delicious! How’s yours?”

“It’s… magnifique…” she replied, surprisingly complimentary.

\---

On the way home Tracer was elated. That tear, that single, solitary tear. It was the first of hopefully many breakthroughs with Widowmaker. In that small instant she could have sworn it was Amélie poking her head out.

Widow, on the other hand, was very out of it. That was the most intense rush of emotion she’d felt since… well, since Talon got their claws in her.

As she hobbled along on her crutches she tried to find a distraction in the crowd. People bustled around quickly, hoping to get home before it could start raining again. Nothing interesting though.

A quiet, repetitive clicking noise made her look back at her companion who was currently using their umbrella as an impromptu walking cane. Chipper as can be. Widowmaker briefly wondered what it was like to be so carefree in such a grim world. An emotion close to envy flashed in her mind.

When bright brown eyes looked up at her that emotion crossed over into a much less sinister longing.

“Say, Amélie-”

“Widowmaker.”

“Sorry. Widowmaker. Mentioned stargazing earlier, you up for it?”

She jerked her head up, staring forward as she shook her head, “Not tonight.”

Had she dared to look over she would have seen how quickly Tracer had wilted at that. She knew such a sight would cloud her vision. Couldn’t keep her eyes on Tracer too long, it was like looking at the sun.

An ache in her leg reminding her she was a prisoner to the perky woman until further notice.

As soon as she was better she had to leave. Immediately.


	5. Time Waits for No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon bugs Widowmaker to try to get more information out of Tracer, by any means necessary.

Widowmaker only got more and more antsy as she waited for her leg to heal. Another week was another nightmare to her.

It certainly didn’t help that Talon was also crawling up and down her spine, whispering that she needed to at least make better use of her time while there. Learn things. Useful things. They certainly hadn’t appreciated Widow’s information about Tracer’s favorite television programs or her mains in that little fighting game.

The subject they kept bringing up was that device on her chest.

She couldn’t give them much as it stood. Never thought to ask about it. Some things were obvious though. That it was the source of the perky girl’s time-based powers and that she didn’t need to wear it all the time. Widow had observed her taking it off and charging it around the house.

Worried about the possible danger of it Widow hadn’t touched it though. Last thing she needed was to accidentally send herself back to the stone age. Getting eaten by a dinosaur would be pretty unfortunate.

But Talon got more insistent. She longed to throw that damned earpiece out but found herself diligently putting it on and listening to Talon’s demands every moment she had to herself.

Even now, as she soaked in the deep tub she found herself listening to their pointless demands.

“No,” Widow sighed, “I haven’t learned anything more. Would you like to ask five more times or may I resume my bath?”

“Watch your mouth,” hissed the unpleasantly nasally voice of some nameless Talon underling tasked with grilling her, “You’re the one failing to produce any useful information.”

“I apologise,” she smoothly quipped, “I guess I don’t really have a leg to stand on.”

The man didn’t appreciate her joke, making one last order for her to directly ask Tracer questions, learn things, stop being useless. She sighed as she dropped it onto the counter, sinking into the water up to her eyes.

Long, long tendrils of dark blue hair floated around her. She smiled despite herself, thinking about what a lovely, deadly siren she’d make. Send sailors crashing against the shores. Or a mermaid. So easy to drag her prey to the depths.

Yellow eyes scanned around while she fantasized. The bathroom was easily the cleanest part of Tracer’s apartment. Seaside motif decorated it nicely, making Widow nostalgic for a beach she may or may not have ever been to.

In her mind she saw the bikini, sticking out from the tank top below her. Black and white striped, a red bow.

The memory floated away before she could grab it.

She stayed submerged until she water grew cold.

As the splashes alerted Tracer reading on the bed outside she called out, “Doin’ alright in there, love? Been in there even longer than usual.”

Widowmaker lazily looked from the discarded earpiece to her own naked reflection.

Might as well go big or go home.

The small towel was perfect, just barely covering anything. Talon never forced her to do anything like this but she doubted she’d have a problem pulling it off. Nor did she mind. She doubted Tracer would do anything but stammer and give her whatever she wanted.

Her suspicions were immediately confirmed as she sauntered out and watched Tracer’s eyes immediately go wide, jaw dropping instantly.

In a heartbeat Tracer looked her up and down before abruptly jerking her head down to stare at the stuffed unicorn she was cuddled up with, “D-did you have a nice bath?”

“Oui,” Widow said, gesturing back at the bathroom, “Your bathroom is… surprisingly nice.”

“Oh, yeah! I, uh, really love the beach. Used to go all the time when I was younger.”

“Why did you stop?” Widow asked, prying without even meaning to as genuine curiosity peaked slightly.

Soft brown eyes looked up for a second sadly before she remembered Widow’s current exposed state. Tracer looked back down quickly, fiddling with the chronal accelerator charging at her side, “This thing.”

“You can take it off though.”

“Gotta have it nearby though, love. Can’t really go out and swim. It’s not supposed to be submerged and I can only go ten, maybe twenty feet. If I’m feeling brave.”

Tracer kept her eyes diligently focused on the stuffed animal in her hands as Widowmaker walked the rest of the way, sliding onto the bed with nothing but the towel on. Swallowing heavily as her comb was grabbed and Widowmaker began to run it through her long, long hair.

Her hummingbird heart beat wildly as she stole a glance. Widowmaker’s back was turned to her, displaying the large spider tattoo scattered across her back.

Once Widow began speaking she looked away quickly, “What happens when you’re too far away from the device?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And I have long hair. I’ll be sitting here for a while. Unless you’d like to help as you talk?”

Tracer desperately tried to ignore the towel slowly slipping down as Widowmaker turned slightly to hand her the comb. She carefully grabbed it, trying and failing not to stare as the barely covered breasts disappeared when Widow turned back around.

Gently, Tracer started pulling the comb through the long, wet hair as she spoke, “I was in an accident. A long time ago. I was a pilot for Overwatch and they had a new plane they were experimenting with. Even though I was young I was good, so good. They chose me to do the field test.”

The hair shook as Widow nodded slightly, “Then what went wrong?”

“Well a pilot can’t necessarily fix a broken plane when they’re flying it, you know? It had an experimental teleportation device. Keyword, love, is experimental.”

“It malfunctioned, I assume.”

“Understatement of the year. It tore me out of time. Literally, like a ghost. Real scary, you can’t imagine. I don’t even have words to describe it myself. Weirdest feeling.”

Widowmaker was a bit befuddled by how easily Tracer offered up this information. Oddly, it didn’t even seem like she was too swayed by the near nudity. If anything it almost seemed like she’d forgotten about the sliding towel the second Widow turned around. She just… wanted to talk.

She couldn’t help but smile a little as Tracer prattled on for a little bit, trying to explain what being dislodged in time felt like.

Her metaphors for it kept falling apart, leaving her reaching for the next one and the next one.

Had she asked Widow, she would have suggested that perhaps it was like being lost in thought. Tracer seemed very predisposed to that. Even now as she continued to carefully pull Widow’s straightened hair even straighter, absentmindedly dragging a hand after the comb.

It pulled pleasantly at Widow’s scalp. For an almost warm second she forget she was on the clock.

Internally she sighed as her heart fell a little, returning to her mission, “And the device?”

“Winston made it just for me It’s like… an anchor. It keeps me here, from fading away again. I’m a little over protective of it but can you blame me? If anything happened to it I’d… I’d just be gone again.”

Oh, if Talon had been listening right here, right now they would have insisted she immediately chuck the device out the window. Problem solved. They weren’t though. But in a dark second Widow felt her hand twitch as she turned around, over eager to appease them and destroy the offending device.

She stopped herself though. A little late. Tracer looked surprised that Widowmaker had turned around and reached out. Her slow heart rate picked up for a second as she pictured being kicked out on her busted leg to fend for herself. Talon wouldn’t bother picking her up weeks.

Tracer’s eyes widened though. She looked down at the extended hand before smiling softly and gently grabbing it with both of her own, “Don’t worry, love, it’s a sturdy device. It’s never failed me and I don’t think it will anytime soon. I’m safe.”

Before Widowmaker could even really react she was pulled into a hug. When she did react she found herself surprised to find her own arms wrapping themselves tightly around Tracer’s waist. They should have been grabbing for the accelerator but instead were holding onto thin, bony shoulder blades.

It only caused Tracer to squeeze her tighter as she scooted closer, genuinely in disbelief that the sniper was letting her into her personal space bubble.

The feeling was mutual. Widowmaker just clung confusedly to Tracer as her mind flashed through a million things.

There was a soft “fwump” as the towel fell off, lying on the bed like a dead animal.

Neither of them moved for a second.

Tracer was the one to embarrassedly pull away, averting her eyes, “Sorry! Sorry!! I didn’t… I didn’t see anything.”

“It is fine. You control time, not gravity,” Widow conceded before she regained her composure and her snark got the better of her, “Unless you’re keeping something from me and are a bit of a pervert.”

“N-no! Just time! Only time! Specifically time related to my specific body!”

Even looking away Tracer was frantically patting at her own body, in some weird attempt at proving that it was the only one she could control. Despite already having what she wanted Widow leaned forward, crawling slightly towards Tracer.

Nervous brown eyes jerked back to look at her, meeting her own confident yellow ones. Sputtering British nonsense noises, Tracer was completely frozen as Widowmaker cupped her chin with an ice cold hand before speaking.

“Of course. And I’d like to think that even if you could control me, you’d ask first.”

“I d-don’t... I- c-can… I…”

Like an invisible hand shoving at the back of her head Tracer fell forward, silencing herself as she kissed Widowmaker on the lips. Both of them opened their eyes wide in the surprise at that, leading to the world’s most uncomfortably close staring contest.

Tracer jerked away immediately, apologizing profusely before sputtering out, “I- we- w-we need groceries! I’m gonna go buy food! Do you want anything?!”

Okay maybe not so much ‘sputtering’ as ‘yelling.’

Still shellshocked herself Widowmaker deadpan answered, “Waffles.”

“Okay great!” Tracer yelled, jumping off the bed and starting to run out, “Be back in a little bit!!”

The bedroom door slammed as she grabbed her messenger bag and started running towards the exit. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob as she heard Widowmaker yell from the other room.

“Wait! Your-”

The door slammed back open, Tracer trying not to look at the barely covered Widow as she ran back in and grabbed her chronal accelerator and strapped it on, “Thanks! Be back soon!!”

As the still yelling woman disappeared again Widowmaker found herself sprawled out on the bed, halfway covering herself with the towel. Completely dumbstruck. She slowly slid off the bed, returning to the bathroom to change her clothes. The discarded Talon device sat idly on the counter, blinking at her.

Sighing, she picked it up, “Yes?”

“What was that yelling? Did you blow your cover?”

“No.”

There was a long silence before they spoke again, “Did you learn anything?”

“No.”

She said nothing more as she popped it out of her ear, sliding it into her bag. Despite the staticky voice yelling at her to not hang up.


	6. Down by the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracer takes Widowmaker to the beach to try and have a nice day with her.

Tracer had completely backed off, leaving Widowmaker completely adrift in her own thoughts.

This morning the woman had disappeared entirely, leaving Widow nothing but a note implying she had to run some errands. What errands? Who knows, it didn’t say.

Sighing, Widow pushed herself up to go and fend for herself for breakfast. The note fluttered to the grounds as she whisked herself to the small, clean kitchen. Digging through the freezer she grabbed the waffles she’d blindly asked for the other day.

Dropping a couple into a toaster she leaned on the counter.

Recalling that night. Lena smooching her, right on the lips.

She hadn’t been kissed since… well, since Gérard was still alive and well.

In fact, she remembered it. One of the few things she could. Although, she supposed, it was because it was something Widowmaker had done, not Amélie.

A full moon had illuminated the room, Gérard slept soundly as her head rested on his chest. Long black hair sprawled everywhere, thin tendrils enveloping the both of them. Her web.

As the clock struck midnight she’d sat up. In the dull light she’d managed to silently open the bedside drawer and pull out the handgun. Glinting. She caught their reflection in the mirror across from them. The scene was almost beautiful. The black widow spinning her web. Her unaware prey lying there, unknowing.

Looking away she saw it for what it truly was. Gérard sleeping. Her with the gun. A murder, unpoetic and unfair.

An odd notion took her as she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.

Her next action was not so gentle. Red splattered ungracefully across the scene, highlighting what she had done.

‘Goodbye.’

Her grim daydreams shattered as the smell of burning waffles caught her nose.

“Merde!” she swore, ejecting them. Examining them, at least they were edible. Small black spots, still salvageable.

‘Maybe you are too,’ she abruptly thought to herself.

That was weird.

She froze up as she tried to rationalize that as a statement she’d been making on the behalf of the missing Tracer. But she was smart enough to know better. An independant thought of her own.

And damned if it didn’t scare her.

Lost in her thoughts she didn’t even hear the door open as she stared into her unadorned waffles, demanding an answer. It wasn’t until Tracer gently tapped her shoulder did she jerk back into reality.

“Uhm… are…. you, or possibly the pancakes, okay?”

Widow reached for an answer, “I was just… wondering where the syrup was…”

Tracer had a strong feeling it was more than that but she had funner things on her mind. She held up the shopping bag she’d been dangling at her side, “I’ve got something a little exciting for us today!”

Widowmaker pushed the side, revealing the logo of the swim shop downtown.

“I thought you said you couldn’t go swimming anymore.”

“Well… I probably shouldn’t but I’m thinking if there’s two of us we can make sure I stay in range of it right? I’ll just… play in the shallows. I just thought you’d have fun with it, because you can just swim around without the crutches. Angela’s waterproof case is working a treat so...”

She trailed off, wondering if this was all pointless. Not that Widowmaker was particularly paying her any mind as she rooted around in the bag.

“There is only one swimsuit in here. With floaties.”

“Oh, I have, uh, an old swimsuit of mine that I’m pretty sure will fit you.”

At that Tracer disappeared into the backroom, leaving Widow to wonder why the hell she was getting a hand-me-down swimsuit.

She appeared with the bikini in question in hand. Black and white striped with a red bow.

Tracer tried not to smile as something sparked behind Widowmaker’s eyes.

Once again the memory from her bath a few days ago tried to swim to the surface. It was cold and familiar and wet, unlike the dry and carefully folded swimsuit she was handed. She could already see herself wearing it in her mind’s eye.

Tracer knew it too well. Amélie had forgotten it, years ago, on a weekend beach trip to come visit her with Gérard. It had become a long standing joke. Lena always forgot to mail it back and every time the couple came to visit they forgot to take it with. Everytime she ended up taking a selfie with it dangling from her hand captioned, ‘Damn it, lads, we did it again!’

Widowmaker seemed to recognize the article of clothing although she seemed completely incapable of placing it. Turning it over in her hands she examined it closely. Seemingly she approved, regardless of whether or not she knew where it came from. Lena didn’t know brands very well but it had some from some expensive French designer.

“Well… let’s see if it fits!” Lena chirped as she gently shooed Amélie towards the bathroom to change.

She knew all too well that it’d fit.

It took her no time to pull on her own. A much more conservative, sporty one-piece. Her favorite color- bright orange! She admired herself in the mirror, winking as she wiggled her butt at herself, “Well, well, well, Miss Oxton aren’t you looking smashing tonight?”

A cold laugh cut the air, jerking her around in one embarassed heartbeat to see Widow smirking at her from the door frame.

“Should I leave you and the mirror alone, cherie?”

“I… I don’t… oh, shush you!” Tracer stuttered, embarrassedly pulling the towel over her.

She didn’t avert her eyes though as she scrutinized Widowmaker’s outfit. Despite being many years old the swimsuit still fit her perfectly, horizontal stripes and bright red bows still stark and clean.

Widow resisted the urge to cover herself, which surprised her a bit considering she considered her modesty long gone.

Realizing she was staring like a gaping moron Tracer looked away, quickly grabbing the swim bag and starting to stuff it. Even now she wondered if this was a good idea.

\---

Overcast. She supposed it wasn’t surprising in the least, Britain isn’t exactly known for its bright, sunny weather.

The beach was nearly abandoned, pretty much no one but them and a disinterested lifeguard staring at the bejeweled phone in her hand. Widow seemed to like that though, chancing a rare smile as she looked up and down the grey, sandy shoreline.

“C’est magnifique,” she muttered, nodding appreciatively.

Tracer had to admit, she preferred a sunny day and large crowd but it wasn’t hard to guess why Widowmaker preferred the opposite. While she never reacted to the weird stares she’d gotten when they’d gone to cafe, Lena didn’t doubt she at least knew about them. Probably was far too used to being ogled. Being literally, physically blue was extremely unusual.

Not that she’d always been. While the sight of Widow hobbling on the crutches to the water’s end wasn’t entirely alien details were certainly different. Cold blue skin replacing soft brown skin, a darker navy replacing the black.

Well, and I mean the crutches of course but any old human can be on crutches.

Upon reaching the edge of the water Widow abandoned them though, carefully sliding into the water and swimming out to about neck height. Not too far out.

That steep slope was intentional of course. Tracer wanted to be able to properly swim around, done a bit of research to find somewhere she could get pretty deep at only about ten feet out. Cheerfully she splashed after her.

“Guh!” as she was plunged ass deep into freezing water, “So cold! Too cold!!”

“I don’t even feel the cold,” Widow smirked back, imitating a ballet move as she gently turned in the water. She did, of course, but it certainly wasn’t bothering her.

“Brr, alright whatever you say,” Tracer muttered as she slowly made her way towards her, “Having any trouble swimming with your leg?”

“Non,” she replied, gently moving it back and forth under the water. Frankly, the cold was more than not bothering her. It was numbing the slight ache she usually felt from her injury. “How about you, holding up without your little device?”

Tracer slapped at her still solid skin, “I’m fine. All here. No ghosting or anything. Like I said I can go up to twenty feet if I’m feeling brave!”

Not to say she wasn’t nervous, as she stole a glance the chronal accelerator tucked carefully between two floaties (just in case).

Ignoring that she started slowly swimming little circles around Widow as the taller woman carefully floated in place, analyzing the surrounding area. She saw nothing of note but had to admit she was nervous being in a public place, even one without people. Before Tracer could make a cheeky remark about how this was supposed to be fun Widow suddenly splashed her.

“The element of surprise,” she smirked before ducking down and making her escape.

Tracer laughed and fumbled to give chase. Watching her struggle Widowmaker almost wondered why the girl wasn’t wearing the floaties herself.

Dodging the wayward splashing was far too easy. Apparently she was a fairly adept swimmer, surprising to even Widow herself. Not to Lena though, she’d always known that Amélie could swim circles around her in her sleep. Did it in high school and won a lot of awards, she’d always claimed. Not that Lena had known her long enough to see those glory days.

Evidence of it though? Yes. She’d always been no match for Amélie. Gérard wasn’t much better but it was enough, Lena frequently caught a ride from him by hanging onto his shoulder while he chase after Widowma-... Amélie.

“Augh,” Lena lamented as she catching flailing a bit weaker, “Take it easy on me, love? I’m gonna start sinking at this rate.”

Widowmaker smirked but let herself gently come to a stop before gently floating onto her back, effortlessly pushing herself back towards Tracer, “Too much for you? Thought you were the sporty type.”

“Solid ground only, mate. Water and swimming’s practically a mystery to me.”

It was a bit awkward but Tracer managed to imitate the float, although she failed to stay as unsubmerged as her butt stubbornly refused to get any closer to the surface. Her struggling only made it worse as her head started going down too.

Sudden hands, cold even in the frigid water, slid underneath her. As she was gently lifted Widow chastised her, “Non, you need to relax. You won’t float if you’re squirm around like a child, cherie.”

The abrupt touch certainly hadn’t helped with that. Memories of the kiss from a few nights around swum into Tracer’s mind as Widowmaker continued to try and manipulate the small woman’s body into floating.

As a few even colder raindrops landed on Tracer she panicked and all but flew out of Widow’s grasp. The large splash her flailing body made completely re-drenched the sniper as she made a noise of irritation.

“How rude,” she scoffed, the offense clear on her face, “Last time I try to help you...”

Tracer immediately felt guilty when she righted herself. Widow looked genuinely upset at her pulling away, arms crossed as she balance on her uninjured foot.

Before she could apologize a loud crack of thunder broke the conversation in two.

Like a bucket of water being dumped on them the rain started pouring down and the water immediately became rougher.

It wasn’t until this moment Tracer noticed exactly how far out they’d gone. The chronal accelerator glowing brightly on the quickly darkening beach, about thirty feet away.

Immediate panic.

Widowmaker failed to place the reason for the sudden, frantic movement as Tracer started flailing aggressively. It was like the girl had completely forgotten how to do her sad little doggy paddle. Before Widow could sneer out a comment a large wave enveloped the both of them.

It was no effort for Widowmaker to right herself and get her head above the water, this time ready for the second wave that hit her. And the third.

Tracer had disappeared though.

Merde.

Widowmaker dove underneath the next wave, bright yellow eyes opening as they protested against the salty water. Tracer was tumbling down deep, struggling to find the way up as the steep slope only made it deeper.

Grabbing for an outreaching ankle, Widow quickly got a grip on her to start pulling her back up. Shock overtook her as her hand suddenly went through the limb. She flailed to grab at it again, this time finding it solid again.

The sudden image of the device on the beach entrapped her mind. They were too far out.

A metaphorical claw dug itself into the back of her mind.

Let go. Let go and your mission is over.

She’ll either die or be lost to time.

Talon will reward you greatly.

Widowmaker let Tracer’s ankle slide out of her hand.

For an ice cold second, Lena floated there oblivious to her abandonment as her body started to go numb.

Grabbing. Utterly frantically Widowmaker pushed closer and latched a hand anywhere solid she could find. Intangible. Tangible. She just kept moving her hands until they found solid flesh again.

Tracer gasped loudly as she was forced above the water, only getting a second of air before the next wave hit and threatened to send them even further out.

As the storm raged above them Widowmaker started swimming towards shore. As they got closer to it she had to reposition Tracer less and less as more of her stayed tangible and stopped threatening to slip out of time.

Her entire body was screaming at her by the time she managed to dump Tracer onto the wet sand, gasping for her own breath as the lazy lifeguard from before finally came running over.

\---

He watched quietly from a nearby dock as the ambulance came, instantaneously followed by a bright blue car which expelled a blonde doctor.

Both parties immediately descended upon the struggling woman, now clutching her glowing device with frantic terror.

Dead eyes watched Mercy argue briefly with the paramedic before being allowed to follow Tracer and Widowmaker into the ambulance. As it zoomed off he finally started moving, slowly making his way back towards the city.

The name of the hospital had been on the side of the vehicle, he already knew where it was.

He could take his time.

Reaper groaned as another wave splashed onto the dock as he descended from it.

Nothing was worse than wet leather.


	7. One for Dramatics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker is haunted by a ghost of her past, hopefully a friendly one.

Tracer lay completely still, half-asleep on the bed while Angela succeeded in evacuating all the other nurses from the room.

Widowmaker hadn’t really thought it was a great idea to call Mercy but she wasn’t about to stop Lena from doing it. A couple gurgled sentences later she’d already summoned the good doctor to the beach. When she’d gotten that waterlogged call from Tracer it had taken only half a second for her to grab her supplies and get there. Maybe she’d broken a few traffic laws.

Angela made no effort to pretend to like Widowmaker this time, even as they hopped into the back of the ambulance. If anything, she seemed extra annoyed as Widow referred to Tracer as her “roommate.”

Unbeknownst to her, Angela had seriously considered trying to get her kicked out of the ambulance.

She’d decided it would be too stressful to the barely conscious Lena though. She’d backed off.

Not to mention the EMTs thought Widowmaker herself was in danger. They were frantically trying to assess the situation of the strange, blue woman. Completely unaware that this was her normal state.

But now that it was just the three of them in the hospital room and Lena was stable, out cold in a dead sleep, Mercy felt free to speak her mind.

“Get out,” she hissed at Widow, pointing at the door.

“Pardon?” Widowmaker looked up from the phone she was drying off, startled by the sudden command.

“I told you to leave,” Mercy reiterated, not even looking up at the assassin as she continued to quietly monitor Tracer’s pulse.

“Who died and made you the Queen of England?” she purred back, brushing it off as she resumed trying to get droplets of water out of Tracer’s phone.

“No one died but Lena came dangerously close,” Mercy growled, jerking her head up to give Widow an icy glare.

A tense staring contest waged between the two for a few seconds as the words sunk into Widow’s currently scattered mind, “You think I did this to her.”

The silence of the woman’s cold blue eyes spoke volumes.

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe whatever you want, mon ange,” Widowmaker sighed, pushing herself to her feet and getting her crutches underneath herself. As she started hobbling out of the room she looked over her shoulder for a final jab, “I’m not leaving permanently, right now, nor because you told me to. I just don’t want to be around you. Yet trust you enough to keep Lena safe. Peculiar.”

At that she left. Mercy sat there for a moment, turning those words over in her mind. She didn’t like the odd and sudden familiarity Widowmaker professed towards Lena. The gears of her mind started cranking on how she could get the terrifying woman away from her friend faster.

Outside Widowmaker began wandering around a bit aimlessly. Eventually she managed to hobble into the cafeteria with quiet gratitude that she’d remembered to put her wallet into the little purse Lena had given her.

She sighed, explaining for the tenth time since leaving the room that she was just blue don’t worry about it before they let her grab a turkey and cheese sandwich.

A quiet seat by the window called to her, letting her have a nice view while she munched away. Good food was something she always admitted to missing, even as Talon chastised her for even mentioning wanting anything. Never a big enough issue for them to waste time on though. Or so they thought. Any tendril branching to her humanity was a good one.

God, it was pretty good. Very fresh. Nothing like Talon’s nasty rations. If you’d asked her, it was her favorite part of staying with Lena. The delicious, real, variable food.

As she finished it up with a satisfied noise she saw a black shadow slink past the doorway to the cafeteria. No one else noticed but her, even though her window seat was far removed from the exit. Her yellow eyes were trained and her body ready. Well, as ready as you can be with a broken ankle.

Abruptly getting up, she gathered her sandwich wrappings to toss as she quickly made her way out of the room and after the creeping blackness.

It was as if the mist waited for her, slowly leading her through the twisting halls of the hospital. Just close enough that she could see it disappearing around corners and through doors without getting a good look. She agitatedly dismissed the doctors trying to ask her if she was okay as she followed it with a single-minded intensity.

The next door she watched it slink through slammed shut behind it, bringing her out of her stupor. Looking around she saw no one, it was like this part of the hospital was entirely abandoned. The plaque on the door labelled it ‘roof.’

Of course. Dramatics. She should have expected.

“You are too much,” she crooned immediately as she swung herself through the door, wishing she wasn’t on crutches for this. Ruins the flair.

The scene was set though, pretty as a graveyard picture. The rain still fell in small waves, calm but not forgotten. She didn’t relish the thought of being soaked again but at least she was still in her bikini underneath the baggy shirt and shorts.

For the hulking man on the other hand? Must be miserable. Those layers and layers of leather had to be absolute torture right now. Not to mention the mask had water running into it, visible even from the odd, sideways angle she could see it. She supposed the sight should be intimidating but she knew that silhouette all too well.

“Widowmaker…” Reaper grumbled, voice nearly blending into the thunder itself.

“Reaper,” she replied, tilting her head with a sarcastic tone.

“What the hell are you doing,” he whipped around as his cloak followed, swirling wildly around him. It wasn’t a question.

She answered it nonetheless, “None of your business.”

“It’s Talon business. They hired me to come and find you. I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d lead me to the beach. Or a damned hospital.”

There was a long silence. A staring contest between those brilliant yellow eyes and the cold, empty pits of Reaper’s mask. Lighting crashing behind them with sharp thunder crackling around it.

“Take it off, Gabriel.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed. It was deeply undercut by the fact he listened to her, reaching up and pulling off the grim, white mask. His weathered face was hitting her with the sternest look he could muster with blacked over eyes following her every move, “Now, what the fuck are you doing with all of… this?”

Gesturing widely, he swept one of his arms towards the whole of London. The scene of her crimes. She was quiet for a second before walking as elegantly as one can on crutches to the edge of the roof to stare into the distance, towards where King’s Row slept, “I don’t know.”

The shadow followed after her with loud, wet footsteps marking his every move with, mask hanging heavily at his side. He spoke as quietly as possible, whether it was for dramatics or to avoid potential bugs was up in the air, “Are you… questioning Talon?”

“What do you care? You’re only a temporary agent. You can come and go of your own free will.”

“Are you regaining yours?”

She was quiet, remembering the tumultuous moment under the tides. Saving Lena. All the warm moments that led up to that. The safety. The independence, even when she should have less than usual. Admittedly, the food.

He’d lived long enough to know how to read people. With a sigh he spoke, “You are.”

The trembling spoke volumes. He watched her hair blow in the cruel winds, free from its customary ponytail. It had never occurred to him before exactly how much hair she had until now, a dark curtain to the window of her life.

She was nearly whispering at this point, “Don’t take me back.”

“I’m not going to,” he replied, using one dull claw to push a few soaked strands out of her eyes.

Another long, drawn out silence fell upon them. Only punctuated by the sound of the rain falling around them as Widowmaker pondered what she even intended to do. If she was to leave Talon… where would she go? Would she stay with Lena? She had a feeling that the perky woman wouldn’t mind. It would be a danger though, they’d most certainly be hunting her down the second they realized she’d deserted them.

But Lena… thinking on her, Widowmaker didn’t know how she felt. Her mind was wildly fluctuating between remembering the kiss and remembering saving her. Flashes of other memories interspersed themselves. The night she took her in, their trip to the cafe, even just a boring night as she slept smushed between Lena and her army of stuffed animals.

“What are you going to do?” Reaper asked finally, crossing his arms with a stern glare.

“I… don’t know,” she whispered, suddenly feel very small next to her friend.

Another silence. The theme of the night.

“Do you… need help?” he very awkwardly spat out, almost sounding pained.

It send Widowmaker into a crooning smile, “Oh, Papa, you do care.”

“I’m not your ‘Papa’,” he growled back, trying to lord himself over her suddenly as he glared down at her with those black, empty eyes.

She only patted his chest, “I knew you had a heart lurking under those layers and layers of leather.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

They stared each other down, Widowmaker smiling and victorious while Reaper was angry and vindictive. He relented with a grunt, backing down. It was too far gone, he’d said too much.

She calmed a bit as well, “But, since you offered, I’d be… comforted if you stayed nearby. While I figure this out. Until my leg is better, I can’t really go anywhere. You don’t exactly know any doctors I could go to.”

“How is it?”

“Hm?”

“Your leg.”

“It is healing. It still hurts, I know I can’t put weight on it still.”

“You can come with me when it’s better,” Reaper reluctantly offered.

“If Talon could hear you now.”

“They can’t and I don’t care. They can rot. Just a paycheck to me.”

Widowmaker looked up at him with a surprisingly warm smile, throwing him off guard. Her small laugh as he put his mask back on to hide his embarrassment only compounded on that feeling.

“You care about me more than them. That… that means a lot to me.”

“You’re feeling again, aren’t you?”

Staring at the ground she avoided his eyes, even as they lay hidden behind the hollow pits of his mask. Slowly, painfully slowly, she nodded.

“Do you feel for her?”

There was no question who “her” referred to.

“I… I don’t know.”

Her voice sounded small, impossibly small. It was entirely alien to Reaper. No one had regarded him in such an unguarded way in nearly a decade, let alone Widowmaker.

She was supposed to be deadly, efficient, but the cracks were showing now. He always knew Talon kept some kind of maintenance on her brainwashing but seeing it wear off so quickly was surprising.

It was her will, he supposed. Even at the peak of her being in Talon’s talons she never truly was theirs. Although he’d never say it out loud, he’d always admired that in her.

“I’ll stay in England,” he quietly promised, “But right now I have to get going.”

“I suppose you freak out the seriously ill,” she smirked, gesturing to his ridiculous get-up, “Look at you, you’re a spectre of death.”

“You told me you liked my design.”

“I do. You’re just going to spook the old people.”

They were quiet once again before a startled Reaper was suddenly accosted into a hug by Widowmaker. Right around his midsection, painfully tight. Like someone who’d forgotten how to hug properly.

A few awkward, clawed pats on the back later she let go.

Looking over her shoulder she shot back one little barb, “I should have known you’d support me against Talon’s wishes. Who else would indulge your theatrics?”

“No one,” he smiled behind the mask, a secret unto himself.

“We’ll meet next week on some shadowy rooftop I assume?”

“Better make it a dramatic alleyway, basking in the moonlight,” Reaper replied, walking towards the edge of the roof, “Your ankle. Can’t get you safely up on most rooftops.”

“How considerate. I suppose I should be getting back to the hospital room too. I’ll see you soon?”

“You will,” he grumbled before dissipating into smoke and cascading down the side of the building. Such a beautiful exit, like a black waterfall.

Widowmaker felt better as she hobbled back inside, making her way towards Lena’s hospital room.

She didn’t know what to do but knowing Gabriel would be somewhere nearby was a comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Chapter Summary: Edgy dad is too worried about his image so he takes a terrorist organization's recon assignment so he can check up on his edgy daughter without looking soft-hearted.


	8. A Stitch in Time Saves Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena and Widowmaker get another guest after dealing with Angela and Fareeha constantly visiting their apartment.

It was like being chased around your own house by an angry mother bird.

Widowmaker began to deeply resent Miss Angela Ziegler as she continued to hover around their apartment. Constantly coming over to keep track of Lena’s health, even as it became obvious her near-drowning had no adverse side effects.

Fareeha often came with but Widowmaker didn't abhor her. If anything, she had found an odd sort of friendship with her. They usually ended up sitting on the couch together, Fareeha waiting for Angela to be done with the check-up.

It had been awkward at first. Fareeha stared straight ahead, not even daring to take a quick glance at Widowmaker and expecting nothing in return. To her surprise, it was Widow who broke the ice.

Even Widowmaker herself wasn’t sure why she was doing it. But she was sitting there either way, fiddling with a movie case suggesting they start watching stuff together while they waited. Beyond that, she’d even tried to pick a movie that she thought Fareeha would enjoy.

It baffled Fareeha, at first on her guard. Expecting a trick. But there was nothing.

Just quietly sitting there, watching some overblown action film together.

They didn’t get too far before Angela walked out and they left though. Honestly, Fareeha didn’t put much thought into it. As much as Widowmaker tried to claim she was emotionless it was obviously false. She just assumed the woman was feeling uncomfortable in the silence. Anything to fill the void.

However, the second time it raised a mental eyebrow for Fareeha as Widowmaker put the same movie in and skipped to where they’d left off.

It wasn’t until the fifth time, when they’d completed and actually started discussing the movie, that she brought it up to Angela.

“I think… I think Widowmaker is trying to be my friend.”

The cab fell into an awkward silence as Angela shot her a weird look, “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Fareeha confessed, “We’ve just… she’s started watching movies with me. The last few nights we’ve gone we’ve worked our way through ‘Deadly but Beautiful.’ Then discussed it. I don’t know.”

This worried Angela. She’d never taken Widowmaker for much of a manipulator but for all intensive purposes she seemed to be comfortably situating herself here. She’d checked her ankle a few times over the past month, it seemed to be healing up quick. Much quicker than it should be. Why bother getting comfortable?

“Be careful, mein Vogel,” Angela quietly warned, staring straight ahead, “I don’t know what game she’s playing.”

Fareeha was starting to wonder if there was even a game being played.

She said nothing though.

\---

Even Widowmaker didn’t really know what she was doing.

It had been as much of a mystery to herself as it had been for Fareeha why she’d decided to start engaging her like that. Befriending Lena made sense to her. They were living together for the time being and spent all day and night together. A comradery growing wasn’t weird to her.

She’d been thinking about what Gabriel had asked her though. What was she going to do after his? All night she laid awake, turning over her options. Going back to Talon, staying here with Lena, leaving with Gabriel. He hadn’t offered but she had a good hunch that he wouldn’t mind. The old man always seems lonely.

While it was a mystery to both her and Fareeha why she was acting like that it would be obvious to any outsider. She’s settling in. Fashioning a nest for herself. Making friends.

A weirder test of her longevity here was coming though.

\---

Lena was usually up before Widowmaker and this morning was no exception.

Dozing by herself was such a luxury to Widow. There was nothing she adored more than spreading out on the bed, restrained only by the stuffed animals encroaching on her.

Not that she minded Lena as a bedmate but the girl was a bit snuggly. The freedom of movement without her being there was exhilarating.

Prior to this but post-Gérard she’d never gotten to sleep so comfortably. So carefree. Most of the time she ended up sleeping crushed onto a plane seat or crammed into some lofty, drafty sniper perch. Sometimes she wasn’t allowed to sleep at all for days on end. An uncomfortable prickle went up her arm as she remembered the adrenaline shots they’d make her take.

Before that it had just been her and Gérard. While she couldn’t personally recall it, of course, he had been just as smothering as Lena as well. In fact, it was a bit worse. Gérard was a big man, Lena but a tiny girl.

He was an early riser too. Always up before his wife, bustling around and getting ready to head out to the Watchpoint. Her work as an architect didn’t start until quite a bit later but it was the perfect timing. The best part of his day was waking her up as he left. There was nothing he loved more than watching her sleepy eyes flutter open.

Bundled up tight, Widowmaker slept. A rouge teddy bear had found itself trapped in her web, crushed tightly against her chest as she slept.

A deep, male voice disturbed the silence. In the twilight of sleep something in her mind reached through the fog.

“Gérard?” she groggily muttered, futilely trying to push herself up against the pull of the blanket she was so tightly bound in. As her face hit the pillow again it woke her up more. Not at home, that wasn’t Gérard, someone was here with Lena.

Pouncing out of bed she silently slunk across the room and pressed her ear against the door.

The pistons in her brain fired wildly as she tried to tell if she could recognize the voice. It was slightly familiar but she definitely couldn’t place it.

Whoever it was they were discussing something about Overwatch as well as Lena’s chronal accelerator. Options, options. The men of Overwatch… It wasn’t Gabriel, obviously. She’d recognize him with ease. Doesn’t sound like Jack Morrison either. Pardon, Soldier: 76. Even alone she rolled her eyes at the thought of that man’s pitiful disguise.

Pressing her ear harder against the solid wood she squinted, trying to figure it out.

What’s what odd noi- that’s the sound of the door opening. Abort, abort!!

Widowmaker had no time to react though as she fell forward, crashing to the floor with a pained noise.

An inhumanly large, padded hand scooped up her entire back. She felt like a puppet as she was hoisted to her feet like that, with disturbing ease. Even supporting her to keep the weight off her bad ankle.

Her jostled mind found a foothold and she looked behind her, the mystery guest revealed.

A gigantic, four-hundred pound, adult male Gorilla.

Everyone knew who Winston was. Who couldn’t? A talking gorilla? That’s ridiculous. That’s so unusual.

While Amélie had never met the monkey Widowmaker had. But it’s one thing to see a gorilla rampaging on the battleground from a distance and another thing altogether to be in a small apartment with what should be a wild animal.

An odd duality for Winston as well. He’d only ever seen Amélie from a distance, Widowmaker too. Except the latter was always pointing a gun at him.

Both blankly stared at each other. Widowmaker having no plan for this and Winston forgetting his.

Lena was the one to break it, bringing Widowmaker her crutches so she could get herself to the couch, “Come on, love, gotta hurt standing like a flamingo! Go, go sit down.”

“Er… yes... “ she mumbled, tottering to go sit with Winston paddling after her.

She sat in the middle, Lena quickly at her right. The entire couch sagged aggressively to the left as Winston himself sat down, sending the two women flopping against his side.

“Er… sorry about that,” Winston said adjusting his glasses, his first words since Widowmaker had emerged.

“P-pas de problème…” Widowmaker mumbled, pushing herself and Lena upright again.

“So, uhm, Widowmaker this is Winston and Winston this is Widowmaker! I know… you two already know each other… kind of… but, uhm, formalities?”

Both nodded in agreement.

Lena looked back and forth, trying to hide her discomfort with a plastered on smile.

“Uhm, I’m going to go make us some tea and snacks,” she chirped before fluttering away. Maybe having something nice and warm in their hands would help break the ice.

Lena hadn’t really prepared this meeting. Winston had just shown up on their doorstep, having heard about the drowning incident and knowing the chronal accelerator had been out in the rain. He wanted to check up on it, make sure she didn’t get launched through time again.

She would rather have had the two meet in a more… public setting.

It was nothing against Winston but she wasn’t oblivious to the fact he was, well, a giant animal. Most people never experience gorillas except through the safety precautions of a zoo. Despite his gentle demeanor he can be quite intimidating in person. If you’re not used to a gigantic animal padding around a small London apartment. Very terrifying.

Alone in the living room, Widowmaker was definitely feeling that.

Unarmed and absolutely not a threat. While she could tolerate that around other humans it was a whole other ballpark with a creature that outweighed her so easily. Winston was nearly four times her size. Inhuman strength and speed. Teeth the size of her hand.

Of course, Winston had not a single evil thought in his head. But human instinct is a strong pull.

Somewhere deeper down though, Widowmaker knew that if she wanted even the slightest possibility of staying here and away from Talon… well, she’d have to play nice.

“Why have… what’s the reason for your visit?” she very, very cautiously said.

Luckily for her, Winston was smart enough to not take any accidental offense. He held up Lena’s device in his hands. A couple pieces were taken off and a small hatch was open but it was still glowing, “Checking her chronal accelerator for water damage. It’s still in perfect working order, very sturdy!”

It descended quickly from there. Winston scooted closer and started gesturing at the different parts of the device, trying to explain to Widowmaker the function of each and every one of them. Widow fancied herself a fairly intelligent women but she was trapped there, nodding vacantly as each and every word he was saying whiffed over her head by a mile.

But the part of her that wanted to stay knew she had to do this. Had to exceed this. She may not understand most of the terms but maybe she could, I don’t know, learn enough to tell when it’s broken.

She started asking a few questions in extreme layman’s terms. What switches did. What things should never disconnect. How to maintain the insides from damage.

For a while Winston and Widowmaker reached an odd amity about all this. Words started to make a little sense, become familiar. She realized a few components on the chronal accelerator matched her visor. Small ones, of course, but pieces she sometimes had to repair herself.

When he started describing one she picked up her long neglected headset off the coffee table, clicking open the back part to show him what she was thinking of, “This part, non? You just put a screwdriver and pop it off to get to it?”

That brought Winston out of his daze of innate trust. On the back of the visor, on the very latch Widow had unlocked, was the Talon logo. It started coming back to him that he wasn’t just chatting with anyone. He was chatting with a Talon agent.

Nervously and abruptly he closed up the chronal accelerator, desperately trying to remember all he’d told her.

She tilted her head at that, “What is wrong? Did I do it incorrectly?”

Completely thrown off she turned her headset around in her hands, wholly unaware of why Winston was suddenly acting weird.

Before he could scrutinize her, looking for signs of deception, Lena came back in with three cups of tea. Well, two cups and a large gorilla-sized thermos. Passing them out she skittered to the kitchen and back with a large plate of cookies as well, smiling widely, “Sorry for the wait! Takes a while to make your tea, Winston. Bein’ all big and such.”

She squeezed herself back next to Widowmaker, who was feeling increasingly like the smushed sandwich you get when you accidentally sit on your backpack with your lunch inside.

“So what were you two talkin’ about?” Lena chirped, already halfway through her third cookie, “Sounded like you were pretty into it.”

Winston took that opening gratefully, let Lena know that Widow might know a little more about the chronal accelerator than she should, “I was just telling Widowmaker here about your device. How it… how it works. And Stuff.”

Widowmaker herself cut in before anything else could be said, “I wanted to know how to fix it. In case it breaks.”

Lena took one look from the awkward, apologetic, and slightly terrified look on Winston’s face to the genuinely neutral look on Widowmaker’s. She knew immediately that her friend was suspicious and trying to relay his error to her.

How to tell Winston everything would be okay without alerting Widowmaker to this… Lena churned it over in her mind a few times before answering, “Well, if she’s going to be living with me like this it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Winston, I know you were thinking about doing a recall for Overwatch next year, you’ll be too busy.”

The room got quiet as Widow and Winston both tok in that sentence. It was the first time Lena had ever directly implied Widowmaker might be staying beyond her leg healing up. Widow herself was surprised at the assumption, even though she’d been leaning towards it the whole time.

For Winston, it was one hell of a revelation. And he’s not someone known for his tact. He stumbled over his words as he asked, “So if she… are you… staying after the whole…”

He gestured a large hand at Widowmaker’s bandaged leg.

Dead silence. A solid minute of dead silence.

Widowmaker broke it though, “I am… considering it…”

Lena’s face lit up like a post-nanoboosted-death-blossom killfeed while Winston’s jaw dropped. Forcing herself into something resembling calm Lena tried not to bounce too much as she all but shoved another cookie into Widowmaker’s hand like a child’s bribe, “Well, I really, really, really, really, really hope you do.”

“I am considering it. Considering.”

Her tone was stern but Lena was overjoyed anyways. For a while after that the subject turned to awkward small talk for a while before Winston and Lena said their goodbyes. Widow felt better after the huge gorilla had exited the apartment.

Winston was trapped between relief himself and even more nerves. He’d been curious but cautious about the situation in the first place and now things had complicated. Was Widowmaker becoming herself again? Was it real? Was it just a ploy?

He didn’t know what to make of it but the second he was a few blocks away he pulled out a phone and, with some difficulty due to the size of his hands v. the size of the phone, managed to call up Angela and Fareeha for some… consulting.

Back in the apartment the second the door closed Lena was peeking over her shoulder at Widowmaker with a coy, knowing smile. Her mind was much more at ease than her dear friend’s, wholeheartedly believing she’d done it. She’d freed Amèlie.

To her own confusion, Widow was unable to contain returning the absolute tiniest smile possible. Much like Winston, she’d found herself confused.

The future seemed a mystery to all but Lena Oxton herself. Maybe time really is always on her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna keep putting Winston in literally everything because he doesn't get enough love but he is Big and he is My Friend.


	9. Joyeux Anniversaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker's ankle is all healed up and she begins to have concerns about her staying with Lena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left!! I'm super excited to have this completed soon, I'm quite happy with how this one turned out. I know I'm prone to rambling and I feel like I avoided that in this one, leaving only the best bits.
> 
> I'm hoping to have the final chapter tomorrow or the day after. Once I get so close to the end, I get so much momentum.

Another month passed. Angela and Fareeha had backed off a bit, showing up once in a while to have dinner but no more constant obtrusive check-ups on Lena.

Widowmaker, ironically, should be the one getting her injury checked. It seemed that Angela and everyone else had forgotten about her broken ankle entirely. One cold morning, she realized she had too.

Much earlier Lena had hopped off to do some cooking or watch a movie or whatever it was she was up to right now. That wasn’t quite Widow’s main concern right now.

How come? Because she was standing on her own two feet with absolutely no pain.

Experimentally, she tapped her previously injured foot on the ground harder.

Nothing.

She did some math in her head. It had been about… three months? Unless she was mistaken, it takes two months for a broken bone to heal. Plus, Angela had said it seemed like a very small fracture.

Widowmaker was… fine.

Normally when one finds their broken leg feels better it’s a relief. I mean, it should be a good thing you're not longer injured. For Widow, it meant this fragile world she’d built was in danger of falling apart.

She had been actively ignoring Talon’s attempts to contact her. To a degree, they tolerated it, considering she was basically undercover right now. But if her leg was better… her time was up.

Pacing the room she tried to figure out what to do.

Even if she did stay she felt like she needed some sort of… gesture. Something cementing it in place.

Especially if she was going to need Lena’s help against Talon.

Collapsing on the bed again she considered her options.

It was no longer ignorable to her that her feelings were back, had they ever truly left. She was happy here. It was warm and safe. She could be with Lena forever and be perfectly fine with that.

Oh the implications of that thought though.

Breathing deeply and slowly Widowmaker calmed herself.

She knew this was coming, everyone did.

Nothing made her happier now than waking up, her cold body curled against Lena’s space heater one. Sometimes finding their fingers delicately interlaced on the soft orange blanket. Every warm smile when she finally joined the waking world and wandered out for breakfast. The cheery ‘Morning, love!’

Their days could be spent together in any way they pleased. Walks in the park, trips to the cafe, even just going shopping. Never having to be alone and cold. Before, at best, she got the company of Reaper or Sombra for a day or two before they’d disappear again. Loneliness cloaked her world.

Even the nights were happier. She could usually catch Lena on the small balcony outside her apartment, staring up at the moon and stars like a content child. Widow had never plucked up the courage to join her but she watched her watching many nights. Disappearing before she turned around.

Yellow eyes flung themselves open, knowing she couldn’t let this warm, soft world with Lena slip by her.

How to go about it… surely, it’d have to be something that would endear her to the other remaining members of Overwatch as well as Lena.

Something tugged at her mind. There was no way to place it but something was trying to claw its way to the surface more than anything before. An idea so desperate to be remembered. Consciously, she was incapable of placing it. Unconsciously, however, she was compelled towards the digital calendar Lena had next to her bed.

It only took a few flicks of her cold finger to reveal what Amélie was desperately trying to convey to Widowmaker.

Lena had taken the pen function of the digital calendar to it’s full effect. The entire day was covered in doodles. Little kittens and bouncing puppies decorated the border, the inside labeled, “My Birthday!!!”

Three days. This gave Widowmaker three days to prepare.

Nodding she started formulating a plan.

\---

It was always easy to plan surprises around Lena.

When you’re not a threat to her, the chances of her being even remotely aware of what you’re doing is impossibly slim.

Widowmaker was somewhat amazed. Lena even walked into the room when she was decorating invitations and didn’t notice. Truly astounding. Didn’t even notice when she put them in the mail, with strict instructions that they be overnighted.

Honestly, the most surprising part was how she’d gotten around making the cake.

All it had taken was slipping the ingredients into the cart at the local grocery when Lena wasn’t looking and packing them away in the back of the fridge. Tucked away behind her favorite food, of course, meaning she would never look beyond those cheese snacks to see it.

Hell, even the night before as she began to mix the cake batter to let it chill overnight Lena was oblivious. Granted, Widow had snuck out at midnight to assure this but still. It was far from silent.

Widowmaker was somewhat concerned by this, wondering how Lena hadn’t been picked off easily by now. Such a lack of attentiveness.

However, the hardest part had been going out to buy her a birthday gift. It was the one thing she hadn’t chanced doing in front of Lena. Luckily, the perky girl had to run a few errands and was out of the house for a few hours. Wanting to keep up the appearances of an injured woman for now, Widowmaker hobbled down the street as fast as she could on her crutches.

Getting increasingly frustrated she went from store to store, not finding a single thing for Lena. It had to be perfect. Something that suited Lena to a T.

As she entered the fifth shop something caught her eye. A bit pricey, it was going to wipe out her emergency money, but it was perfect.

“C’est magnifique.”

\---

The next day it was already time.

She was nervous. The party was going to be excessively small but she’d never planned one before.

Well, Amélie had. Widowmaker hadn’t.

The easy part was Lena had an appointment at the bank over a small issue with the multiple bank accounts she held. Nothing serious but it would ensure that she’d be out of the house long enough for Widowmaker to set up the party.

Either way it was stressful though. Not to mention it had involved inviting people who barely tolerated her, let alone liking her. She’d left it to just the ones who knew she was here. Winston, Angela, and Fareeha.

They’d all said yes.

But as she pulled out the batter to start actually working on the cake she started to get a bit sloppy as she started contemplating what would happen to her if she didn’t manage to get accepted by the rest of Lena’s friends.

Sure she could stay. Maybe they’d all be fine on the virtue of the others caring for Lena.

But they so, so easily could not as well.

If it was just her alone in the apartment would the others come to her aid? Or would they leave her to rot?

These were the questions that vexed her as she popped the cake into the oven.

Walking out onto the balcony for the first time herself she looked out at King’s Row. Homely, but she supposed even a word like that has ‘home’ in it. Putting her weight on her healed ankle, finally free of being bandaged up, she felt an odd sort of relief.

Maybe tonight she’d finally join Lena out here to stare at the stars.

Lost in her own thought she stood out there for quite a while, dreaming of the possibilities if everything went to plan.

Down below she could see a cab pull up with some familiar faces in it. She had to admit, she was somewhat impressed that Winston managed to fit inside a human-sized car. Her nerves were still alight but they absolutely flared up into an inferno as she realized she was smelling smoke.

“Merde!” she yelled as she ducked back inside, shocked by how much smoke there actually was billowing from the oven.

\---

Outside, Winston calmly padded after the two women, assuring them it’d be fine.

“I think she’s just trying to make friends.”

Fareeha nodded, “I think so too. Maybe not be so worried, Angela?”

The good doctor was just quiet at that, nervously tapping on the gift in her hands, “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to Lena. That is all.”

As if on cue, smoke started drifting out from underneath Lena’s door.

Angela wasted no time grabbing the handle and throwing it open. Completely unsurprised that it was unlocked, Lena ever remembered to when she left the house. She stomped in with a vengeance, ready to grab a bucket and put out whatever fire Widowmaker had started in the apartment. She knew she was up to no good!

Her rampage was cut incredibly short though as she ran into the kitchen and nearly tripped over Widowmaker, sitting on the ground in front of the oven.

“Il es ruiné,” Widowmaker lamented, looking up at Angela with such genuinely disappointed eyes. In her hands was a very badly burned cake, charred almost beyond recognition. The source of the smoke.

\---

In that moment Angela had changed her mind about Widowmaker. Pulling the other woman to her feet she helped her dig the remains of the ruined cake out of the pan. Simultaneously she instructed Fareeha to get to the store and buy the nicest store bought cake she could acquire and for Winston to find a stall Lena.

The look of forlorn-tinted gratitude that Widow gave her only cemented Angela’s change in feelings towards her.

With a small jolt Angela realized Widowmaker could walk again as well, putting all of her weight on her previously injured ankle. She insisted she check it quickly while they wait for the others to return. Thankfully, it appeared to have healed well.

For the rest of the evening everything went off without a hitch. Fareeha ran back with a brand new cake from the very expensive bakery down the road just minutes before Winston returned with Lena. She was genuinely surprised as everyone jumped out and yelled ‘surprise!” at her.

It was easily the smallest party Lena had ever had but she loved it anyways. They all gorged themselves on the cake as well as some of the cookies Lena’d squirreled away. Angela and Fareeha had gotten her a set of matching stuffed animals, one from each of them. An angel bear and an army bear. Winston had followed suit, handing her a stuffed gorilla which frankly delighted him.

Soon after alcohol flowed abundantly, leading to the world’s worst couples’ dance-off (featuring Winston as a guest judge). Lena and Widowmaker won by a landslide as poor Angela got smushed by a drunken Fareeha who could barely stand.

At the end of the night the two women stumbled off, completely wasted and escorted by the gorilla.

Left to her own devices Lena wandered to the window as Widowmaker hoped. Gently falling into her prepared web. Although she was a little wobbly Widow managed to follow her, clutching her own present behind her back.

Bubbly from the bubbly Lena smiled vacantly up at her, “Had a nice time, love?”

“Yes,” Widowmaker nodded, smiling herself as she pulled out the small box, “I got this for you.”

Lena fumbled with the wrapping, drunkenly trying to find the edge for a minute before catching it and freeing the small, velvet pouch. Carefully opening it she pulled out a gorgeous golden pocket watch, engraved with an elaborate sun design.

“I don’t suppose clocks are of much use to you, but it’s quite beautiful, non?”

It glittered attractively in the bright moonlight, nearly bringing a tear to Lena’s eye. It perfectly mirrored an old trinket of hers. A delicate, silver pocket watch with an intricate carving of the moon on it. Gifted to her by none other than Miss Amélie Lacroix.

With a warm smile Lena didn’t hesitate as she gently grabbed Widowmaker’s jawline and carefully brought her down into a moonlit kiss.

This, of course, is a fabrication.

Lena’s super duper wasted, she just grabbed Widow by the face and accidentally headbutted her right in the mouth.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Lena slurred, carefully putting the pocket watch on the coffee table as she steered Widowmaker towards the kitchen. “I’ll get some ice!”

But by the time she got back to the couch Widowmaker was laughing quiet to herself, “Ice doesn’t do much for me, cherie.”

“Well, it’s… it’s better than nothing!” Lena retorted, already putting it painstakingly slow to her injured mouth.

Widowmaker gently pushed it away though with a sly smile, “How about you just kiss it better?”

Lena absolutely couldn’t stop the smile from leaping across her face as she bent forward and very, very, very carefully kiss Widowmaker on the lips.

The two were smiling as they parted.

“Is that better?”

“Much better.”


	10. Epilogue: A Lifetime of Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amélie looks back at the past few years as her and Lena prepare to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, the ending! I hope everyone liked it, I'm very happy with how this one came out. c:

Amélie could hear everyone bustling around outside her dressing room.

It had been a hectic few years. Not long after Lena’s birthday Winston had recalled Overwatch, sending their lives away from the comfy apartment she’d grown to love. She found herself okay with it though, even as her and Lena packed up to live in the Gibraltar base.

Of course, Amélie had some concerns about this though.

It wasn’t as if her arrival there didn’t raise some eyebrows sky high. Especially considering everyone knew she disappeared sometimes, sent on what she claimed were black ops missions she couldn’t talk about.

To Winston and other high ranking members of Overwatch it was no secret what she was doing. Who better to take down Talon than their former best operative?

It didn’t hurt that her own personal shadow followed, more than happy to trade Talon’s manpower for Amélie’s allegiance. Between Reaper creeping around their bases and her watching over him Talon had no chance.

A smirk crossed her lips whenever she pictured those bastards who’d tried so hard to brainwash her, only for it to all unfurl like it had. Pathetic.

Even when Talon was wiped out it was an odd, somewhat unpleasant transition. Many didn’t trust her still. The leery eyes of Ana and Soldier in particular were constant.

There was one thing Amélie had been incredibly right about though. It helped to have more than just Lena in her corner. Winston, Fareeha and Angela had particular pull in the reforming organization. It turned out to be a very, very good thing she’d befriended them. She’d even witnessed Fareeha lightly chastising her mother for not giving Amélie another chance.

Honestly, Amélie didn’t expect them to ever accept her.

Hell, the name “Amélie” had felt wrong in her mouth when she’d suggested going back to her old name.

It was foreign to her. Didn’t feel like it fit. She wasn’t who she was before and she never would be again. But she wasn’t about to go around by her Talon codename anymore so she figured it would do.

Winston and Angela had worked hard to try and repair the physical damage Talon had inflicted on her.

It had taken a lot of research but they’d done it. Her skin had returned to the mid-range brown it was supposed to be instead of the chilly blue as her heart rate was returned to normal. Her hair was growing in black again, she’d butchered it short to help expedite the process.

When a normal-looking, brown-skinned, short-black-haired Amélie had first walked out into the Gibraltar common area nobody even recognized her.

That had helped more than anything else. Being human again.

After a couple years it had gotten better. People started to truly believe Amélie was on their side again, especially as word got out about the not-so-mysterious figure that had wiped out Talon.

Relations with the other big names had drastically improved. Most didn’t take much. Mccree and Genji took her on pretty easily, their own criminal backgrounds probably made them more sympathetic. Reinhardt and Mei had also almost instantly accepted her but she supposed that was less “fellow former felon” and more “I am too nice to be mean.”

By Lena’s outpouring of affection the new, young members never really held any animosity for her. She didn’t quite understand the hyper hip Hana and Lúcio but could appreciate their energy.

Amélie even became a bit of an ambassador as other questionable entities joined Overwatch. 

When Genji’s repentant brother Hanzo showed up she was among the first to accept him. After that, the seemingly cold Satya was taken under her wing. She’d had a harder time helping the last two to adjust though. It’s a bit harder to bring a hyperactive anarchist and his terrifying bodyguard into the fold, she supposed.

She’d even managed to regain Ana’s trust which cascaded pretty quickly into Soldier being alright with her.

Although the hardest sell she’d had was her refusal to cut ties with Reaper and a couple other shady folk. It was still a point of contention with some of the older members so this day. But Amélie had done so much good they certainly didn’t want to jeopardize her. Even if that good occasionally came with a side of “Reaper creeping along with her.”

But so much time had passed now. Even in the Overwatch base she’d stayed in Lena’s quarters with her, making them a well known power couple. Things only got better with age, as they spent nearly every day and night together.

Amélie had even started asking Lena to help her try and remember things, to little avail. While she could never quite conjure up the memories she did begin to enjoy hearing about her life from before. A few times she’d even considered trying to go back to college and re-earn her degree in architecture. Maybe later, but right now Overwatch needed her.

She liked the pictures the best. More than anything they could occasionally bring back a wisp of a memory. Amélie couldn’t remember much about Gérard but Lena was happy to tell her. It tugged at her heartstrings though. Knowing what she’d done. Knowing she loved him once. Knowing Lena loved him once too, albeit in a platonic way.

Sometimes she cried over it. Small, private moments even Lena didn’t know about.

For the most part, it was nothing she couldn’t handle though.

Lena and Amélie’s complementary skill sets frequently made them comrades on the battlefield as well. Lena was the perfect scout, finding their targets easily and taking them out while her girlfriend covered her from far above.

Everything was perfect.

Nothing in the world could have possibly made Amélie any happier.

Or at least she thought.

About half a year ago Lena had surprised her with a trip to Paris. No business, just pleasure. Even though he memories of her childhood spent there were foggy the atmosphere was enough to make her feel comforted and at home.

It was cliche, she supposed, that Lena proposed to her on the highest point of the Eiffel Tower.

Cheesy, but she liked the over dramatic flair.

Now she sat here, drowning in a too-big, too-fluffy black dress. White hadn’t felt fitting.

In the distance she could hear Angela calling for her to come out, it was time. With some difficulty Amélie managed to get to her feet and bustle out.

“You look beautiful,” Angela nodded, “But you need to hurry.”

At that Amélie took off towards the conference room they’d turned into their venue.

Peeking in it was beautiful. If she hadn’t spent countless hours in meetings held here she never would have guess it was a place of business. Electric lights were strung from every available space and few not so available. But that wasn’t about to stop Fareeha with a rocket pack, duct tape and a vision.

Delicate fabric covered each chair, most filled by the butt of an Overwatch member in their best formal wear. They’d even managed to wrangle the Junkers into ill-fitting suits. Roadhog’s too small, Junkrat’s too big.

Lena already stood at the makeshift altar. She’s foregone a dress in favor of a slightly blinding orange and yellow tuxedo, tempered only with black accents. It was such a cute look though, making Amélie’s fixed heart skip quite a few beats.

Reinhardt was going to be the one to help them recite their vows, being that neither of them was terribly religious. Winston had walked Lena down the aisle in lieu of her parents not being around. Lúcio, her best man.

One of Amélie’s own questionable choices of wedding guests of honor made herself known. Sombra hooted loudly when she walked in, yelling something supportive in Spanish. The others had tried to dissuade Amélie from having the excitable woman as her maid of honor to no avail. Now she stood there at the front, being glared at by everyone else as she jubilated.

There had been no support to who was walking her down the aisle either but he was here nonetheless. She couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the over embellished black-on-red tuxedo Reaper had shown up in, especially as he raised his arm for her to hang onto. The nearly gaudy suit was nothing to the pristine white mask he still wore though.

Lena and Amélie didn’t care about how people were seeing things though. Frankly, Lena didn’t have a thought in her head that went beyond being stunned by how gorgeous Amélie looked in her dress.

The ceremony went on with minimal disruptions. Just a few. Mostly from Sombra.

\---

Music was threatening to shake the building to the core, Lúcio of course being their DJ. He wasn’t about to let Lena have anything less than the best party she’s ever seen in her life. He was calling Hana “his assistant” but it was mostly an excuse to let her dance behind the table with him.

Amélie watched from the brides’ table as everyone started quickly departing from their tables to dance, nearly ready to fight over partners.

A few couples were expected and well known. Ana was being very, very carefully waltzed by Reinhardt, being overly cautious not to step on her. McCree and Genji were engaged in some weird, frantic combination of swing dancing and club dancing.

Sombra had all but dragged poor Satya onto the dance floor, not used to dancing in a crowd. But after she got comfortable her actual dance experience made her the star. Granted, Sombra had gotten her comfortable by doing the most uncomfortably dorky dance possible but it had worked.

Everyone was up and dancing eventually. Even Zarya had been dragged to her feet by a happily bouncing Mei.

The best thing Amélie saw on the dance floor was all but hidden in a corner. She supposed that Reaper and Soldier only dared to do this as Junkrat aggressively commanded the dance floor through sheer misplaced enthusiasm. People were too busy being amazed at the fact he was dancing so vigorously, if horribly off-beat, with a pegleg that they didn’t notice the pair of old men quietly dancing in the shadows.

After a while, Lúcio called for everyone to squeeze to the sides, it was time for the brides’ first dance. He started the clapping and cheering himself as Lena and Amélie made their way to the middle. Switching the music over to something slow and beautiful, he smiled and gestured for them to go.

It was awkward for Amélie, having so many people watching her so intently. She tried to remain as graceful as possible though. Lena, on the other hand, was stumbling over her own feet and giggling the entire time.

The way her soft brown eyes sparkled as she looked up to Amélie made it just about the best dancing she’d ever seen though.

Something clicked in Amélie’s mind as it sometimes did. Bringing back a golden memory, clear and beautiful. In it she could see down at herself, fluffy dress white instead of black. Lena in black instead of orange. The ring was different, the time was different. Somewhere else lurked a groom instead of a second bride.

But even back then Lena smiled up at her with the same face full of love and trust. Dancing awkwardly with her as the music softly engulfed them.

“What’re you thinking about, love?” Lena giggled, taking her out of her daydream memory.

Amélie only smiled softly, “Do you ever get that feeling of Déjà vu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic before Sombra came out and while I wasn't about to completely rewrite the story to include her, I couldn't not squeeze her in at the end. I'm a total Sombra addict.


End file.
